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Qptincefon  C^eofogicaf  ^eminatj 

BV  4501  .A2  1834 
Abbott,  Jacob,  1803-1879. 
The  corner  stone,  or,  A 
familiar  illustration  of 


.1 


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B  OS  TON. 

WILLIAM   TEmCE  ^•?  9  COR7JHILL 
ICEWYORK.  _JOHX  P.HA.VEK._ 

PHILAD^_lI^:r^.v  rr.:',xi\s_ 


THE 


CORNER-STONE, 


OR 


A  FAMILIAR  ILLUSTRATION  OF  THE  PRINCIPLES 


OF 


CHRISTIAN  TRUTH. 


Jesus  Christ  himself  beiug  the  chief  Corner  Stone  " 


BY  JACOB  ABBOTT. 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  YOUNG  CHHISTIAN,'  AND  'THE  TEACHER, 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY  WILLIAM  PEIRCE. 

NEW  rORK:  JOHN   p.  HAVEN.       PHILADELPHIA:    HENRY  PERKINS. 
18  3  4. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1834,  by 
William  Peirck,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court 
of  tlie  District  of  Massachusetts. 


PRESS    OF     WEBSTER    AND    SOUTHARD, 

9  Cornhill,  Boston. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  LYMAN  THURSTON  &  CO. 
BOSTON. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  work  Is  intended  to  be,  in  some 
sense,  the  counterpart  to  the  "  Young  Christian;  "  that 
having  exhibited  the  first  principles  of  christian  duty, 
and  this  on  the  other  hand  developing  the  elements  of 
religious   truth. 

The  experienced  Christian  must  not  look  here  for 
additions  to  his  stock  of  religious  knowledge.  If  I  had 
had  any  new  and  peculiar  views  of  any  portion  of  divine 
truth,  I  should  not  have  brought  them  forward  in  this 
volume;  for  it  is  the  elements  only  of  Christianity,  which 
I  mean  here  to  teach.  It  is  not  my  aim  to  advance  the 
science  of  theology,  but  to  disseminate  its  acknowledged 
principles;  and  I  have  endeavored  to  exhibit  them  sim- 
ply as  they  are  taught  in  the  New  Testament,  and  as 
they  have  been  understood  by  the  great  body  of  Chris- 
tians in  every  age. 

There  has  been,  it  must  be  admitted,  and  there  still 
continues  to  be,  some  controversy  on  the  subjects 
treated  in  this  volume;  and  how  far  what  I  have  said 
may  be  acceptable  to  different  classes  of  Christians,  I 
do  not  know.     I  should  suppose  it  would  meet  with 


PRKFACE. 


decided  o|)|i'jsiiion,  from  some,  were  it  not  that  I  have 
often  been  snrprised  to  see  how  Cluistians,  who  have 
been  considered  as  entertaining  views  apparently  the 
most  diverse,  will  come  together  on  a  simple  exhibition 
of  the  gospel,  when  it  is  not  urged  in  a  tone  of  challenge 
and  defiance.  A  heated  controversy  drives  men  to 
such  extremes  in  their  expressions,  that  a  calm  by- 
stander cannot  easily  tell  what  they  really  do  believe. 
Should  any  persons,  however,  find  anything  in  this  vol- 
ume to  disapprove,  I  trust  they  will  do  me  the  justice 
to  admit,  that  I  have  made  this  exhibition  of  the  gospel, 
with  reference  to  its  moral  effect  on  human  hearts,  and 
not  for  the  purpose  of  taking  sides  in  a  controversy  be- 
tween different  parties  of  Christians. 

The  work  is  not  intended  to  contain  a  complete  sys- 
tem of  religious  truth.  Like  the  "Young  Christian," 
it  is  designed  to  be  only  one  excursion  into  a  field  which 
is  almost  boundless;  and  in  our  progress  through  it,  I 
call  the  attention  of  those  who  accompany  me,  to  such 
objects,  and  to  such  moral  scenery,  as  naturally  come 
in  our  way.  A  system  of  theology  is  a  map  or  a  plan, 
in  which  every  feature  of  the  country  must  be  laid  down 
in  its  proper  place  and  proportion  ;  this  work  is  on  the 
other  hand  a  series  of  vieics,  as  the  traveller  sees  them 
in  passing  over  a  certain  road.  In  this  case,  the  road 
which  I  have  taken,  leads  indeed  through  die  heart  of 
the  country,  but  it  does  not  by  any  means  bring  to  view 
all  which  is  interesting  or  important. 


PREFACS.  6 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  history  of  Jesus 
Clirist  is  the  clue  which  I  have  endeavored  to  follow  ; 
that  is,  the  work  is  intended  to  exhibit  religious  truth 
as  it  is  connected  with  the  various  events,  in  the  life 
of  our  Savior.  In  first  introducing  him  to  the  scene, 
I  consider  his  exalted  nature  as  the  Great  Moral 
Manifestation  of  the  Divinity  to  us.  Then  fol- 
lows a  view  of  his  Personal  Character,  and  of  his 
views  of  Religious  Duty.  From  this  last  subject  we 
turn  aside  a  litde  to  consider  the  general  Conduct  of 
Mankind,  its  Consequences,  and  the  principles  on 
which  these  consequences  can  be  averted  by  Pardon; 
and  then  we  return  again  to  the  history  of  the  Savior, 
—  to  the  scenes  at  the  Last  Supper,  and  at  the 
Crucifixion.  His  Parting  Command,  and  Part- 
ing Promise,  bring  us  to  the  Conclusion  of  the 
volume, 

1* 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I.^THE  DEITY. 

Address  to  the  reader.  Preparation  of  the  heart.  The  caravaa 
Night.  The  lost  child.  An  anxious  search.  Jerusalem  at  even- 
ing. The  temple.  The  boy  found.  The  question  and  reply 
Mary's  feelings  towards  her  son.  His  appearance,  and  character 
He  stands  alone.  The  Deity.  Survey  of  the  Universe.  The 
proper  station.  The  sun.  Tlie  moon.  Jupiter;  his  satellites. 
Distance.  Exact  regularity.  The  celestial  clock.  Sirius.  The 
Panorama  of  the  Universe.  Childish  ilius-ion.  No  visible  Deity. 
The  Spirit;  seen  only  in  his  works.  Various  manifestations.  Un- 
worthy conceptions  of  God.  Exhibitions  of  power;  love;  benev- 
olence;   skill.     Moral    character  displayed  in  Jesus  Christ. 

Studying  God's  character.  Practical  considerations.  His  works 
examined.  An  experiment.  The  ripe  apple's  stem.  Juices. 
Bells.  The  vine  and  its  tendrils.  Contraction.  The  dew  drop 
Its  supports.  Highly  finished  work.  Water.  The  fleecy  cloud. 
Snow  storms  and  snow  flakes.  Perfect  workmanship.  The  bub- 
ble. Its  structure.  Its  wonderful  mechanism.  Intellectual  and 
moral  exhibitions.  An  imaginary  walk  in  June.  God  is  love 
The  robin  and  h>3  nest.  God's  care  of  him.  The  pair.  The 
scene  changed.  January.  Plans  for  protection.  The  winter 
home.  The  Chrysalis.  The  ant.  God  a  father.  A  znagistrate 
too.  System.  Firmness  and  decision.  The  suflering  child.  Its 
mother.  Physical  law  sustained.  God's  determined  decision. 
General  laws.  3Ioral  law.  The  wretched  dwelling.  The  inte- 
rior. Misery.  The  father's  return.  Unpunished  guilt,  and  suf- 
fering innocence.  Penallies.  Language  of  the  Bible.  Leading 
traits  of  the  Divine  character.  Second  manifestation.  The  Holy 
Spirit.  Contrasts  of  character.  Influences  of  the  Spirit.  Testi- 
mony of  the  Bible;  of  witnesses.  United  testimony.  The  son. 
Seeing  face  to  face.  Studying  God's  character.  True  mode. 
Approaching  the  Deity.     Access  by  Jesus  Christ.     Conclusion.  13 

CHAPTER  II.— THE  MAN  CHRIST  JESUS. 

The  Savior's  first  words.  His  last  words.  Perfection.  Common 
illusion.  Real  claims  of  Cliristianity.  Mahometanism.  Pagaiv 
ism.  The  worldly  man.  His  character  and  habits.  Seriousness. 
He  is  changed.  One  kind  of  religion.  His  great  business.  His 
final  account.  Consecjuences.  Samuel's  business.  How  a  child 
may  imitate  the  Savior.  The  glory  of  God.  Acitng  as  a  stew- 
ard. Worldliness.  Love  of  furniture.  Dress.  The  work  of 
God.  Low  pursuits.  The  arts  and  refinements  of  life.  The  en- 
joyments of  life. 

The  Savior's  character.  Energy.  Mildness  and  forbearance.  His 
story  of  the  Samaritan.  His  rejection  at  Samaria.  Plane.  Bold 
and  systematic  action.  His  personal  boldness.  Nights  of  prayer. 
Style  of  speaking.  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  The  assembly.  His 
missionaries.  Results.  Key  to  his  character.  Courage.  The 
night  in  the  garden.  Suffering.  Lights  and  weapons  and  armed 
men.  Real  courage.  Three  great  traits.  Love  of  nature.  Kirk 
White.  The  Savior's  metaphors.  The  lily.  Insensibility  of  men. 
The  garden.  Its  wonders.  The  Savior's  taste  and  sensibility. 
His  mode  of  addressing  men.  Moral  sympathy.  Reasoning.  He 
loved  his  friends.     He  loved  his  mother.     Proof.     Filial  affection.     49 


8  CONTENTS. 

CIlAl'TKU  III.— IITMAN  DL'TV,  OR  THK  SAVIOR'S  MESSAGE 
TO  MANKIND. 

A  diflTornice  between  tlic  gospels  and  the  epistles.  Wrong  wny  to 
read  llie  liihie.  Ri;,dit  way.  Tlie  sclioolliousc.  A  t^tormy  night. 
Trouble.  TheloHtcap.  Conversation.  The  Teachi-r's  |)erplexity. 
The  plan  formed.  Penitence  nece.-^Kary  lx.fore  forgiveness.  Dis- 
tinction illustrated.  A  dialogue.  Forgiveness  of  Joseph.  The 
Teacher's  walk.  Efltct  on  the  boys.  Joseph.  The  Teacher's 
return.  Moral  effect  of  Christ's  sufferings.  Essentials.  The 
ponitcnt  child.  The  shipwrecked  niinister.  The  savages.  Con- 
scieuce,  the  nnixersal  monitor.  Duty  plain.  John  the  Baptist. 
Jonah.  Voice  of  conscience.  Personal  duty  plain,  though  univer- 
sally neglected. 

God's"  design  in  the  creation.  The  ten  commandmentB.  Analysis  of 
the  moral  law.  Its  character.  Effects  of  obedience  to  it.  Spir- 
itual obedience  to  it.  The  Priest  and  the  Levile.  Various  ways 
of  beginning  to  olx;y.  The  absent  master.  The  disobedient  boys. 
Expostulation.  How  to  begin.  Giving  cold  water.  Holiness  is 
submission.  Various  forms  of  piety.  The  conversion  of  a  little 
cliild.  Sj)iritual  darkness.  The  way  to  remove  it.  The  various 
ways  of  turning  to  God.  Forms  and  ceremonies.  Do  this.  Prac- 
tice of  the  Apostles.  Forms  of  worship.  Example  of  Christ. 
Changes  necessary.  Common  error.  One  great  denomination. 
Disastrous  results.     Christ's  sufferings,  71 

CHAPTER  IV.— HUMAN  NATURE,  OR  THE  SAVIOR'S  RECEP- 
TION AMOiNG  MANKIND. 

Human  nature.  The  way  to  study  it.  The  village.  Morning.  The 
wife  and  mother.  Industry.  Benevolence.  Exceptions  rare. 
Moral  beauty.  Night.  The  sick  child.  The  proposal.  Watch- 
fulness. Moral  beauty.  Human  virtue.  lis  two  foundations. 
The  village  examined.  Real  characters.  The  post  office.  Appa- 
rent virtue.  A  distinction.  No  real  difference  of  opinion  about 
human  character.  Alienation  from  God:  settled  and  universal. 
Evidences.  Use  of  God's  name.  False  religions.  Mint,  anise 
and  cummin. 

The  door  of  salvation  open.  Men  will  not  enter.  Insincerity  among 
Christians.  Open  vice  and  crime.  Salvation  offered  to  children. 
Its  reception.  The  little  child.  The  weaUhy  merchant.  The 
message  to  him.  Enmity  against  God.  The  amiable  girl.  Appa- 
rent attention.  Real  indifference.  Almost  a  Christian.  Univer- 
sal alienation  from  God.  Dead  in  trespasses  and  sins.  The  real 
difficulty.  Spiritual  blindness.  The  ungrateful  child.  The  dia- 
logue. Ingratitude.  Moral  insensibility.  Spiritual  blindness. 
The  horse  and  his  rider.  Insensibility.  The  common  case. 
Scene  at  evening.     Feelings. 

The  Solilo(|uy.  Wandering  thoughts.  Reveries.  The  confession. 
The  cold,  formal  prayer.  Effect  of  sickness  and  suffering.  The 
sick  man.  A  visit.  Conversation  by  the  way.  The  unfeeling 
heart.     Consumption.     Hopeless  condition.  96 

CHAPTER  v.— PUNISHMENT,  OR  THE  CONSEaUENCES    OF 
HUMAN  GUILT. 

Qiaracter  of  tlie  Deity.  Efficiency  in  government.  Different  es- 
timates of  it.  Severe  punishment.  Necessity  for  it.  Alternative. 
Consequences  of  yielding  to  crime.  Public  sentiment.  Petitions. 
Public  sentiment  now.  Impartiality.  Opinions  influenced  by 
character.     Points  illustrated.     Time  spent  in  sin.     Fifteen  sec- 


CONTENTS.  9 

onds.  Bad  intentions.  Irnnnediate  consequences.  Inconsiderate- 
ness.  Object  of  punishment.  Not  revenge.  Moral  impression. 
The  petition.  Satisfying  justice.  Dr.  Johnson.  Salvation  by 
Christ.  Penitence.  Its  power  in  averting  punishment.  It  makes 
pardon  desirable. 

Application  of  principles.  Nature  and  effects  of  sin.  Ccck/ighting. 
War.  Spiritual  blindness.  Human  insensibility  to  si:i.  Threat- 
ened destruction.  The  alternative.  Open  unbelief.  Luiif^erence. 
Mistaken  views.  The  guilt  of  sinning  against  God.  Case  of  the 
child.  The  spread  of  sin  must  be  stopped.  Sin  overruled  for 
good.  The  forgery.  Its  beneficial  effects.  Moral  impression. 
The  authority  of  law  sustained.  Good  often  done  by  the  commis- 
sion and  the  punishment  of  sin.  DiiHiculty.  Divine  power  over 
the  human  heart.  The  traveller.  Spirit  of  controversy.  God  is 
to  be  feared.  The  Savior.  Insensibility  to  God's  threatened 
judgments.  A  form  of  unbelief.  Christians  should  be  aflected  by 
it.      Probation.     Debt  and  credit. 

The  voung  man.  Leaving  home.  Allurements  of  sin.  The  Crisis. 
The  sore  temptation  and  the  struggle.  Results  depending.  Con- 
sequences of  a  defeat.  Probation.  Nature  of  it.  Si^i  perpetu- 
ates itself.  Its  worst  effects.  Wandering  from  God.  Can  the  sin- 
ner return?  Will  the  sinner  returnl  God  often  employs  suffering. 
Arraiigementsfor  it  in  thehuman  frame.  Uses  of  suffering.  Jehovah 
is  to  be  feared.     Value  of  an  efficient  government.     Conclusion.  122 

CHAPTER  Vr.— PARDOx\,  OR  CONSEaUENCES  SAVED. 

Pardon  possible.  Always  desirable  when  it  is  safe.  The  story  of 
the  lost  cap.  The  Teacher's  motives.  Cases  common.  Not  pre- 
cisely analogous  to  the  plan  of  salvation.  The  Iwoken  stucco. 
Suffering  of  the  innocent  for  the  guilty.  Effects  of  the  substitution. 
The  principle  often  api)lied.  Another  case.  The  students  and  the 
joiners.  Mischief.  The  proposed  substitution.  Its  effects.  Moral 
impression.  Peculiarities  of  the  case.  The  offenders  not  peni- 
tent. Favours  received  for  Christ's  sake.  Illustration.  Political 
governments.  Differences.  No  foigiveness  provided  for  by  human 
laws.  Two  motives  for  punishment.  Their  operation  in  this  case. 
Substitute  for  punishment.  The  father's  plan.  Visit  to  the  pooi'- 
house.     The  scene.     The  abandoned.     Consequences  of  truancy. 

IMoral  impression  made  by  the  death  of  Christ.  Extent  and  power 
of  it  undeniable.  Its  present  influence.  Its  prospective  influence. 
Necessity  of  atonement.  Sacrifices.  Preparation  required.  Sin- 
cere repentance.     Principles  of  moral  government. 

Application  of  the  subject.  Address  to  the  incjuirer.  Source  of 
anxiety.  Remedy.  Anxiety  needless.  Redemption  fully  pur- 
chased. Faith  necessary.  Difference  between  faith  and  belief. 
The  electric  machine.  Christian  faith.  Doubts  and  fears.  The 
way  to  find  peace .  Justified  by  the  law.  Lasting  effects  of  sin. 
Example.  The  sinning  child.  Change  in  his  moral  position. 
Justification.  Peace  of  conscious  rectitude.  Peace  of  forgiveness. 
Joys  of  forgiveness.  The  sting  of  sin.  Their  permanence.  A 
wounded  spirit.  The  way  to  find  peace.  The  Savvor.  Peace  and 
pardon.  Penitence  essential  to  pardon.  Peace  deferred.  John 
Bunyan's  view.  Christian  at  the  Cross.  The  way  to  remove  the 
burden.     Come  to  the  Savior.  152 

CHAPTER  VII.— THE  LAST  SUPPER. 

Plan  of  this  work.  Analysis  of  preceding  chapters.  The  last  supper. 
Jerusalem.  Supposed  feelings  of  the  populace.  The  last  passover. 
Moral  greatness  of  the  occasion.  The  meeting.  Anxiety  and  sadness. 


lU  CONTENTS. 

The  Savior's  rclisjious  instruction.  He  pressed  duty  first.  Nico- 
dcmiis.  Thoorii's  of  rcgeneraiion.  Tlie  occuuion.  'I'ojiics  now 
broiiijlit  f(ir\\;ir(l.  Free  convcrsiilioii.  Trutlis  adilnccd.  His 
tesliiiiniiy  rcspi  riiiig  liiinsclf.  IMiilip's  quftilii>ii.  'I'he  way  to 
appniacli  llu-  Dcily.  INIoral  dipeiidcnre.  Ve  ha\e  not  rlioaen  me. 
Tlic  vino  and  llu;  braiiclicH.  Union  with  Christ.  'I'he  Comforter. 
His  work  npiin  luinian  hearts.  The  diseiple's  cjue^tion.  The 
prayrr.  Eu-rn.d  life  a  gift,  (foil's  claitn  often  resisted.  The 
liappiness  of  yielding  to  it.  Fteling  of  dt-pendenco  safe:  happy. 
Rcliijions  expei  ionc(!.  Trust  in  (jod.  Pliysit-al  danger.  The 
hafc  refuge.  Other  truths.  Evidences  of  piety.  Fruits.  Com- 
mon errors.  Two  errors.  Abundance  of  talk.  Insincerity. 
Party  spirit  in  religion.  lis  nature.  Its  spirit.  Its  effects.  True 
fruits  of  piety.  The  catalogue.  Love.  Joy.  Peace.  Long-suffer- 
ing.     Gentleness.     Goodness.      Faith.      Meekness.     Temperance. 

Other  occurrences  at  tin;  interview.  The  Lord's  supper.  The  Sa- 
vior's view  of  cercrnonietj.  Forms  and  feelings,  liaptism.  The 
rainbow.  Ceremonies  symbolical.  3Ionuments.  A  contrast. 
The  pyramids  and  the  Lord's  supper.  Test  of  sincerity.  Exact 
obedience.  The  father's  two  directions.  Principles  of  compliance. 
Ceremonies  of  false  and  true  religions.  Meaning  of  '  Do  this.' 
Circumsiaiices  excluded.  Principles.  Moral  efl'ect  to  l)e  secured. 
IVo  dispute  on  this  subject.  Principies  universally  applicable. 
Formalists.      No  denomination  free.      Liberality. 

Difierence  of  opinion  unavoidable.  Case  supposed.  Wine  of  Pales- 
tine. Each  church  must  judge  for  itself.  Modes  of  ordination. 
Admission  to  the  church.  True  intolerance.  Practical  applica- 
tion. Weak  and  sickly  Christians.  Directions.  The  sickly  Chris- 
tian. Preparatory  lecture.  Communion  day.  Feelings  at  the  com- 
munion table.  Its  true  design.  Its  proper  eflects.  Examination. 
Confession.  Reunion.  Partaking  unworthily.  Guilt  and  conse- 
quences of  it.  Lukewarm  Christians.  The  sad  alternative.  The 
Savior's  farewell  Ilyimi.  183 

CHAPTER  VIII.— THE  CRUCIFIERS. 

Dramatic  interest  of  the  narrative  of  the  crucifixion.  Its  moral 
efl'ect  often  lost.  Three  stages  of  guilt.  First  stage;  guilty  feel- 
ing. Second  stage;  guilty  intentions.  Third  stage;  guilty  action. 
Illustrations.  Sudden  acts.  God's  view  of  guilt.  Difierence 
between  divine  and  human  laws.  Consequences  no  criterion  of 
guilt.  The  murderer.  The  feelings  of  tlie  heart  and  external 
conduct.  The  Lady.  The  rude  boy.  Application  of  these  princi- 
ples.     The  characters  of  the  crucifiers.     Their  characters  common. 

Judas  Iscariot.  llis  p.obable  character  and  plans.  Trust  conferred 
upon  him.  Ilis  present  followers.  7Mie  church.  Various  ways 
of  betraying  Christ's  cause.  The  worldly  pastor.  The  merchant. 
The  probable  intentions  of  Judas.  Judas' excuses.  The  midnight 
scene.  Jerusalem.  The  \ alley.  Tiie  garden.  The  coming  forth 
of  tlie  soldiers.  Apparent  discrepancy.  The  two  accounts.  Fear- 
lessness of  truth.  Explanation.  The  encounter.  Resistance. 
Binding  the  prisoner.  Jesus  before  the  Priests.  Their  two 
charges.      Blasphemy. 

Political  condition  of  the  Jews.  Capital  punishment.  The  Roman 
Governor.  His  hall.  The  Priests  remain  in  the  street.  Another 
apparent  discrepancy.  Truth  and  fabrication.  Explanation. 
Judas  and  the  Priests  compared.  The  spirit  of  the  Priests.  Con- 
tention among  denominations. 

Peter.  His  appearance  at  the  hall.  Character  of  Peter  and  John. 
Peter's  sin  very  common.     His  temptations  compared  with  oi>rs. 


CONTENTS  11 

Denying  Christ  at  the  present  day.  The  narrative  resumed. 
Characters  of  the  parties.  The  dialogue  in  the  street.  Charge  of 
treason.  Pilate  and  the  Savior  in  the  hall.  Pilate's  efforts.  His 
inquiries.  His  plan  for  avoiding  a  decision.  Herod.  The  Sa- 
vior's silence.  Another  plan.  Barabbas  called  for.  The  excite- 
ment. Pilate's  perplexity.  The  scourging.  One  more  appeal 
to  the  Savior's  enemies.  The  decision.  Character  of  Pontius 
Pilate.  The  soldiers.  Sinning  in  the  way  of  business.  Various 
characters  exhibited  at  the  cross.  His  numerous  friends. 
Crucifixion.  Inflanmiation.  Thirst.  Suffering,  Death.  The  sol- 
diers' visit  at  sunset.  The  body  taken  down.  The  disciples. 
Moral  efi'ect  of  the  scene.  220 


CHAPTER  IX.— THE  PARTING  COMMAND,  OR  THE  MEANS 
OF  SPREADING  THE  GOSPEL. 

Plan  of  the  work.  Human  life.  Anticipated  happiness.  What 
have  I  to  live  fori  The  work  of  a  Christian.  The  Christian's 
work.     Means  of  doing  it. 

I.  Holy  life.  Two  kinds  of  influence.  The  salt  of  the  earth.  Duties 
to  ourselves.  Common  danger.  Looking  to  others.  Watching  one's 
self.  Common  way  of  evading  duty.  Influence  of  personal  holiness. 
Influence  of  action.  Double  motives.  Bad  principles  cultivated 
by  religious  acts.  Influence  of  the  heart  greater  than  that  of  the 
conduct.     Holy  example.    Unholy  example.     The  latter  common. 

II.  Personal  influence.  Its  value  as  a  means  of  doing  good.  The 
contrast.  Repulsive  piety.  Its  bad  Influence.  The  fault  gener- 
ally incurable.  Unsound  logic.  Supposed  want  of  influence. 
Extent  and  power  of  influence.  The  chief  magistrate.  The  two 
sisters.  Mutual  influence.  Powerful  but  not  extensive.  The 
diild  and  his  little  brother.  None  too  young  to  do  good.  Influ- 
ence over  brotliers  and  sisters.  Every  Christian  has  an  influence. 
Effect  of  universal  fidelity.  Future  spread  of  the  gospel.  The 
cliurch  the  pillar  of  the  truth. 

ni.  Study  of  human  nature.  Mistakes  often  made.  Example  of 
Paul.  His  preaching.  Mistakes  of  Christians.  Guides  in  the 
study.  The  Bible.  Observation.  Books.  Theories.  Theolog- 
ical notions.     Want  of  skill.     Careful  study  necessary. 

IV.  Use  of  property.  Claims  of  Christianity.  Common  question. 
Case  supposed.  The  rude  Islanders.  Waysof  reaching  them.  Vari- 
ous plans.  Co-operation.  Money.  Its  nature  as  a  means  of  ocing 
good.  Examples  of  Its  power.  Radiant  points  of  piety.  Sincere 
motives.  Piety  begins  at  home.  Success  certain.  Important  trust 
committed  to  Christians.     Sublimity  of  the  Christian's  work. 

y.  Religous  discussion.  Written  defences  of  Christianity.  Early 
associations.  Instances.  Religious  antipathies;  beyond  the  reach 
of  argument.  Opinions  hereditary.  Irrellgion  the  cause  of  error. 
One  great  distlnctiou.  Influence  of  feelings.  Instances.  The 
contention.  The  consumptive  patient.  Bias 'in  religion.  Sourc- 
es of  bias.  Remedies.  Ineificacy  of  argument.  Hard  to  ac- 
knowledge error.  The  remedy.  Useless  disputes.  Language 
misunderstood.  Human  character.  Nature  of  disputes  about  it. 
Misunderstanding,  Dispute  grounded  on  misunderstanding,  Ana- 
biguity  of  conunon  words.  Proposed  question  and  dispute  arising 
from  it,  Uiiiinportant  questions.  Pride  and  self-conceit.  The 
limited  powers  of  the  human  mind.  Frultlessness  of  controvei-sies. 
The  test  of  the  truth.  Sin  a  disease.  Efficacy  of  remedies. 
Moral  power  of  the  truth      The  means  of  propagating  it.  258 


12  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTKIl  X.-Tlir  PAUTrxr.  PROMISE,  OR  THE  INFLUENCES 
ur  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

Tlie  command  and  the  jironiise.  Tlie  Savior's  presence.  Proofs  of 
it.  Sanl.  Dirtiriiltioti  of  llir  subject.  Sulycrl  oh.sciire.  Plausi- 
ble rcasoniiii;  not  (o  be  relied  upon.  Ambiguity  of  language. 
Facts  are  plain  ;  tiiu  tlieory  obsomc.  Moral  dependence  on  (jiod. 
Wailing  fur  tiic  .Spirit.  TIk;  man  witli  a  witliered  liaiid.  Faults 
and  errors.  We  must  be  born  again.  Influences  of  the  Spirit. 
Various  cflerts.     Tlie  narralivo.     Such  rases  common. 

A  NcwEngland  Colle;;c.  The  buildings.  The  classes.  The  first  day. 
Temptations.  Varieties  of  character.  Dangers.  The  progress  of 
sin.  Efforts  to  reclaim  a  wandi-rer.  Daily  college  life.  Morning. 
The  prayer  bell.  Morning  prayers.  Recitations.  The  break- 
fast hour.  Study  hours.  The  idle  and  negligent.  The  afternoon. 
Evening.  College  mischief.  Fre(|uent  consetjuences.  Efforts  of 
the  officers.     Their  fruitlessness.     Amherst  College  in  April  1827. 

A  student.  Letter  to  the  author.  Writer's  account  of  tiie  condition 
of  the  college.  Animosities  and  irregularities.  The  President's 
efforts.  Their  success.  Attention  arrested.  Interest  at  the  chap- 
el. Impression.  Singular  plan  adopted  by  the  students.  The 
evening  meeting.  The  intruders.  An  enemy  turned  to  a  friend. 
A  strange  assembly.  Success  of  a  bad  design.  The  Hebrew 
Bible.  The  President's  visit  to  the  awakened  student.  The 
mother.  Her  son's  letters.  The  Christian  mother's  encourage- 
ment. Suspense  relieved.  The  young  convert's  narrative.  Nar- 
rative continued.     Narrative  concludea 

Marks  of  genuine  feeling.  Religious  meetings.  The  recitation 
room.  The  circles  for  prayer.  The  Tuesday  evening  meeting. 
Solemnity.  Sincere  and  honest  feeling.  The  sermon.  The  hymn. 
Religious  character  of  the  converts.  These  changes  the  work  of 
God.  Witnessed  by  thousands.  Counterfeits.  Influences  of  the 
Spirit.     The  Comforter.  305 

CHAPTER  XL— THE  CONCLUSION. 

Various  classes  of  readers.  Address  to  the  (ew.  Very  few  really 
accessible.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  Christian."  Two  great  principles 
of  duty;  universal  and  unquestionable.  Some  pleasure  in  sin. 
Sin  preferred.  Su|)posed  desire  for  piety.  Influence  of  a  religious 
book.  First  ground  of  error.  Tlie  thoaghtfuj  young  man.  Con- 
iscience;  recollections;  fears.  Sooth-ing  influence  of  a  good  inten- 
tion. Loving  the  rewards  of  piety.  Loving  piety  itself.  Influ- 
ence of  fear.  Undefined  fears.  Fear  of  conseijuences  proper. 
Desire  of  happiness.  Second  form  of  false  interest  in  religion. 
The  evening  walk.  The  ocean.  Night.  Clouds,  Stars.  Poetic 
feeling.  The  romance  of  religion.  Holiness,  These  feelings  not 
wrong;  only  insuflicient  of  themselves.  Wishing  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian.    Difficulties  removed.     Discrimination,     Common  errors. 

To  the  Reader.  Various  directions  to  a  new  convert.  Openness. 
Humility,  Metaphysical  difficulties.  The  precise  time  of  conver- 
sion. The  first  great  duty.  Excellences  of  outward  life.  Regu- 
lation of  the  conduct.  The  feelings  towards  others.  Formation 
of  opinions.  Independence.  3Iodesty.  Limits  to  human  know- 
ledge. Progress.  Pressing  forwai'd.  Trust  in  tlie  Savior. 
Jesus  Christ  the  chief  Corner-stone.  338 


THE 


CORNER-STONE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   DEITY. 
"  The  glory  of  God  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ." 

Address  to  the  reader.  Preparation  of  the  heart. 

"If  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  shall  know  of  the 
doctrine;"  so  said  the  Saviour,  and  the  obvious  infer- 
ence from  it  is,  that  we  are  to  act  up  to  the  light  we 
have,  before  we  seek  for  more.  Reader,  are  you  doing 
God's  will  ?  This  book  is  intended  to  explain  such  of 
the  elementary  principles  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  as  are 
necessary  to  supply  the  most  pressing  wants  of  a  human 
soul  hungering  and  thirsting  after  righteousness,  and  this 
gospel,  the  Bible  assures  us,  cannot  be  understood,  unless 
the  heart  is  willing  to  comply  with  its  claims.  If  you 
have  not  confessed  your  sins  therefore,  and  asked  for- 
giveness,— if  you  do  not  habitually  strive  against  tempt- 
ation, seeking  help  from  above, — if  you  do  not  aim  at 
doing  the  will  of  God  in  your  daily  pursuits,  I  do  ear- 
nestly advise  you  to  go  to  God  before  you  proceed  far- 
ther, and  implore  his  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and  in  the 
most  solemn  and  emphatic  manner,  commit  yourself  to 
him  for  the  future.  Whatever  difficulties  in  your  mind 
hang  around  the  subjects  connected  with  religious  truth, 
you  certainly  know  enough  to  see  that  this  is  a  duty, 
and  you  cannot  neglect  or  postpone  obedience  with- 
out doing  violence  to  conscience,  and  displeasing  God. 
2 


14 

THE    CORNER-STONE 

[Ch.  L 

The  CaraTan. 

Night.            The  lost  child. 

An  anxious  search* 

Do  it  then,  before  yon  proceed  any  farther.  You  will 
then  have  God's  guidance  and  assistance  as  you  go  on. 
You  will  be  preserved  from  error  and  led  into  the  truth* 
Your  heart  being  opened,  the  instruction  which  this 
volume  may  present,  will  enter  into  it,  and  contribute  to 
its  improvement  and  happiness.  But  it  will  do  no  good 
to  heap  up  the  truth  before  a  door  which  is  securely 
barred  against  what  is  already  there. 

Some  centuries  ago,  a  large,  a  very  large  company 
were  travelling  northwardly  in  early  summer,  through  a 
lovely  country,  whose  hills  and  valleys  were  clothed  with 
the  fig-tree,  the  olive,  and  the  vine.  They  journeyed 
slowly  and  without  anxiety  or  care,  for  their  route  lay 
through  a  quiet  land,  the  abode  of  peace  and  plenty. 
Friends  and  acquaintances  were  mingled  together  in 
groups,  as  accident  or  inclination  might  dictate,  until 
the  sun  went  down,  and  the  approach  of  evening  warned 
them  to  make  preparations  for  rest.  While  the  various 
families  were  drawing  off  together  for  this  purpose,  the 
attention  and  the  sympathy  of  the  multitude  were  excited 
by  the  anxious  looks  and  eager  inquiries  of  a  female, 
who  was  passing  from  group  to  group,  with  sorrow  and 
agitation  painted  on  her  countenance.  It  was  a  mother, 
who  could  not  find  her  son.  It  was  her  only  son,  and 
one  to  whom,  from  peculiar  circumstances,  she  was  very 
strongly  attached.  He  had  never  disobeyed  her; — he 
had  never  given  her  unnecessary  trouble,  and  the  un- 
common maturity  of  his  mental  and  moral  powers  had 
probably  led  her  to  trust  him  much  more  to  himself  than 
in  any  other  case  would  be  justifiable.  He  was  twelve 
years  old,  and  she  supposed  that  he  had  been  safe  in  the 
company,  but  now  night  had  come,  and  she  could  not 
find  him.  She  went  anxiously  and  sorrowfully  from  fam- 
ily to  family,  and  from  friend  to  friend,  inquiring  with 
deep  solicitude,  "  Have  you  seen  my  son?" 


Ch.   I.]  THE    DEITY.  15 

Jerusalem  at  evening.  The  temple.  The  boy  found. 

He  was  not  to  be  found.  No  one  had  seen  him,  and 
the  anxious  parents  left  their  company,  and  inquiring 
carefully  by  the  way,  went  slowly  back  to  the  city 
whence  they  had  come. 

The  city  was  in  the  midst  of  a  country  of  mountains 
and  valleys.  Dark  groves  upon  the  summits  crowned 
the  richly  cultivated  fields  which  adorned  their  sides. 
The  road  wound  along  the  glens  and  vales,  sharing  the 
passage  with  the  streams,  which  flowed  towards  a  neigh- 
boring sea.  The  city  itself  spread  its  edifices  over  the 
broad  surface  of  a  hill,  one  extremity  of  which  was 
©•owned  with  the  spacious  walls  and  colonnades  of  a 
temple,  rising  one  above  another,  the  whole  pile  beaming 
probably  in  the  setting  sun,  as  these  anxious  parents 
approached  it,  in  all  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  marble 
and  splendor  of  gold.  The  parents  however  could  not 
have  thought  much  of  the  scene  before  them.  They 
had  lost  their  son. 

With  what  anxious  and  fruitless  search  they  spent  the 
evening  and  the  following  morning,  we  do  not  know. 
They  at  last  however  ascended  to  the  temple  itself. 
They  passed  from  court  to  court,  now  going  up  the 
broad  flight  of  steps  which  led  from  one  to  the  other, 
now  walking  under  a  lofty  colonnade,  and  now  travers- 
ing a  paved  and  ornamented  area.  At  last  in  a  public 
part  of  this  edifice,  they  found  a  group  collected  around 
a  boy,  and  apparently  listening  to  what  he  was  saying; 
the  feeling  must  have  been  mingled  interest,  curiosity 
and  surprise.  It  was  their  son.  His  uncommon  mental 
and  moral  maturity  had  by  some  means  shown  itself  to 
those  around  him,  and  they  were  deeply  interested  in  his 
questions  and  replies. 

His  mother,  for  the  narrative,  true  to  nature  and  to 
fact,  makes  the  mother  the  foremost  parent  in  every  thing 
connected  with  the  search  for  their  son,  does  not  re- 
proach him.     She  could  not  reproach  one  who  had  been 


16  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1. 

fhe  question  and  reply.  Mary's  feelings  towards  her  son. 

such  a  son.  'She  asked  him  why  lie  had  staid  behind, 
and  gently  reminded  him  of  the  sorrow  and  suffering  he 
had  caused  them.  He  gave  them  a  reply  which  she 
could  not  fully  understand,  and  the  feelings  with  which 
twelve  years  of  intercourse,  such  as  no  mother  ever 
before  had  with  a  son,  had  inspired  her  for  him,  forbade 
her  pressing  him  for  an  explanation.  "  She  laid  his 
words  up  in  her  heart. ^^ 

With  what  a  strange  mixture  of  affecti'  n  and  wonder, 
and  ardent  but  respectful  regard,  must  the  mother  of 
Jesus  have  habitually  looked  upon  her  soil.  A  boy  who 
had  never  spoken  an  impatient  or  disrespectful  word,  who 
had  never  manifested  an  unkind  or  a  selfish  feeling,  who 
had  never  disobeyed,  never  failed  in  his  duty,  but  had, 
for  twelve  long  years,  never  given  father  or  mother  an 
unnecessary  step,  or  a  moment's  uneasiness,  or  neglect- 
ed any  thing  which  could  give  them  pleasure.  My 
reader,  are  you  still  under  your  father's  roof  ?  If  so,  try 
the  experiment  of  doing  in  every  respect  for  a  single 
week,  your  duty  to  father  and  mother;  fill  your  heart 
with  kindness  and  love  to  them,  and  let  your  words  and 
your  actions  be  in  all  respects  controlled  by  these  feel- 
ings ; —  be  the  disinterested  and  untiring  friend  and 
helper  of  your  little  brothers  and  sisters; — in  a  word,  do 
your  whole  duty,  in  the  family  of  which  you  form  a  part, 
making  filial  affection  and  respect  the  evident  spring, 
and  you  will  fill  a  mother's  heart  with  gladness  at  the 
change.  You  can  then  a  little  understand  the  deep  tide 
of  enjoyment,  which  must  have  filled  IMary's  heart, 
during  the  childhood  of  her  spotless  son. 

What,  too,  must  have  been  the  progress  of  his  mind, 
in  knowledge  and  wisdom.  A  mind,  never  allured  away 
by  folly,  or  impeded  by  idleness,  or  deranged  by  passion. 
Conceive  of  a  frame  too,  which  no  guilty  indulgence  of 
appetite  or  propensity  had  impaired,  and  a  countenance 
which  was  bright  with  its  expression  of  intelligence  and 


Ch.   1.]  THE    DEITY.  17 

His  appearance,  and  character.  He  stands  alone.  The  Deity. 

energy,  and  yet  beaming  with  kindness  and  love.  It 
was  the  perfection  of  human  nature,  the  carrying  out  to 
its  limit,  of  all  which  God  originally  intended  in  the 
creation  of  man.  And  why  was  it  so  ?  How  has  it  hap- 
pened, that  among  the  millions  upon  millions  of  children 
who  have  by  disobedience,  ingratitude  and  sin,  planted 
thorns  in  their  mothers'  pillows,  and  often  thrown  sadness 
about  the  circle  in  which  they  moved,  this  boy  had  been 
the  only  spotless  one?  How  is  it,  that  he  alone  had 
walked  in  purity, — that  he  alone  had  never  sinned,  never 
sought  selfishly  his  own,  never  given  a  parent  pain, 
never  injured  a  playmate,  or  returned  an  impatient  word, 
or  struck  a  blow  in  anger,  or  harbored  a  feeling  of 
revenge  ?  He  stands  a  glorious  monument  of  perfect 
filial  virtue,  the  more  glorious  because  it  is  solitary. 
No  other  nation  or  kindred  or  people  or  clime,  ever 
furnished  such  a  case,  or  pretended  to  furnish  one.  It 
is  remarkable  that  among  all  the  endless  fables  and  pre- 
tensions of  ancient  times,  no  historian  or  mythologist,  no 
priest  or  prophet  or  philosopher  has  ever  pretended  to 
have  found  a  spotless  man.  The  whole  world  withdraws 
its  pretensions.  Every  system  of  religion,  and  every 
school  of  philosophy  stand  back  from  this  field,  and 
leave  Jesus  Christ  alone,  the  solitary  example  of  perfect 
moral  purity,  in  the  midst  of  a  world  lying  in  sin.  The 
motto  of  our  chapter  contains  the  only  explanation.  It 
is"the  glory  of  God  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ." 

Almost  all  young  persons  are  lost  and  confounded  m 
attempting  to  obtain  any  clear  conceptions  of  the  Deity, 
or  rather  I  should  say,  they  are  embarrassed  and  per- 
plexed by  many  false  and  absurd  impressions,  which 
come  up  with  them  from  childhood,  and  which  cling  to 
them  very  obstinately  in  riper  years.  Let  us  turn  away 
then  a  short  time  from  the  history  of  the  child  Jesus, 
that  we  may  look  a  little  into  this  subject.  It  is  not  an 
easy   one      It   will   require   patient   thought   and  close 

2# 


18  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1 

Surrey  of  Uie  Universe.  The  prof>er  station.  The  sun. 

attention.  You  ought  to  pause  from  time  to  time,  as 
you  read  tlie  following  paragraphs,  to  look  within  and 
around  you,  and  to  send  forth  your  conceptions  far  away 
in  the  regions  into  which  I  shall  attempt  to  guide  them. 
And  above  all  remember  that  if  ever  you  need  divine 
assistance,  it  is  when  you  attempt  to  look  into  the  nature 
and  character  of  that  Power  which  is  the  origin  and  the 
support  of  all  other  existence. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  take  a  survey  of  the  visible 
universe,  that  we  may  see  what  manifestations  of  God 
appear  in  it.  Let  us  imagine  that  we  can  see  with  the 
naked  eye  all  that  the  telescope  would  show  us,  and 
then  in  order  that  we  may  obtain  an  uninterrupted  view, 
let  us  leave  this  earth,  and  ascending  from  its  surface, 
take  a  station  where  we  can  look,  without  obstruction, 
upon  all  around.  As  we  rise  above  the  summits  of  the 
loftiest  mountains,  the  bright  and  verdant  regions  of  the 
earth  begin  to  grow  dim.  City  after  city,  and  stream 
after  stream  fade  away  from  view,  and  at  length  we 
see  the  whole  earth  itself  rolling  away  on  its  course, 
and  reflecting  from  its  surface  a  uniform  and  silvery 
light.  As  the  last  breath  of  its  atmosphere  draws  ofT 
from  us,  it  leaves  us  in  the  midst  of  universal  night,  with 
a  sky  extending  without  interruption  all  around  us,  and 
bringing  out  to  our  view  in  every  possible  direction, 
innumerable  and  interminable  vistas  of  stars.  They 
grow  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance,  till  they  are  lost 
in  measureless  regions,  too  remote  to  be  seen,  but  which 
are  still  as  full  and  as  brilliant  as  those  which  are  near. 
In  one  quarter  of  the  heavens,  we  do  indeed  see  the  sun, 
shining  in  all  his  splendor  but  as  there  is  no  atmosphere 
around  us  to  reflect  his  rays,  they  produce  no  genersJ 
illumination,  and  the  dazzling  splendor  of  his  disk  beams 
out  from  a  dark  nocturnal  sky.  The  stars  beyond  him, 
bright  and  faint,  as  they  are  nearer  or  more  distant,  send 
to  us  their   beams   entirely  unobstructed   by  his   rays. 


Ch.    1.]  THE    DEITY.  19 

The  mooD.  Jupiter;  his  satellites.  Distance. 

We  have  thus  the  whole  visible  universe  open  to  our 
view,  so  far  as  telescopic  vision  will  carry  us  into  its  re- 
moter regions.     Let  us  look  at  it  in  detail. 

Do  you  see  yon  moon-like  looking  planet,  gliding  al- 
most imperceptibly  towards  us  on  its  way  ?  From  that 
portion  of  its  surface  which  is  turned  towards  the  sun,  it 
reflects  to  us  a  silvery  light,  while  the  rest  of  its  form  is 
in  shadow  and  unseen.  As  it  approaches  us  it  enlarges 
and  swells  until  it  fills  the  whole  quarter  of  the  sky 
whence  if  comes.  Its  illuminated  surface  is  turned  more 
and  more  from  us  as  it  passes  between  us  and  the  sun, 
and  as  it  wheels  majestically  by  us,  we  see,  dimly  in- 
deed, for  we  look  upon  its  shaded  side,  broadly  extended 
regions  crowded  with  life  and  vegetation.  The  mighty 
mass  however  passes  on;  a  bright  line  of  light  begins  to 
creep  in  upon  its  western  limb.  The  darkened  surface 
gradually  fades  from  our  view,  and  we  soon  see  nothing 
but  the  shining  crescent,  which  dwindles  to  a  point,  as 
this  mighty  world  of  life,  covered  with  verdure,  and 
thronged  with  population,  wheels  away  and  takes  its 
place  among  the  stars  of  the  evening  sky,  itself  soon  the 
faintest  star  of  all.  * 

In  another  quarter  of  the  heavens,  we  see  a  larger 
planet,  whose  surface  it  would  take  the  swiftest  human 
traveller  hundreds  of  years  merely  to  explore;  but  it 
beams  mildly  upon  us  from  its  distant  orbit,  a  little  gilded 
ball. 

There  are  four  bright  points  in  the  sky  near  it;'  two 
on  each  side,  so  minute  as  to  be  almost  invisible,  and  yet 
shining  with  a  clear  and  steady  light,  except  when  in 
their  regular  revolution  round  their  parent  orb,  they 
disappear  behind  him,  or  are  lost  in  his  shadow.  The 
whole  group,  the  moons  and  the  mighty  mass  around 
which  they  revolve,  sweep  on  in  their  annual  circuit 
with  nearly  the  velocity  of  lightning,  but  in  their  almost 
measureless  distance,  their  motion  is  to  us  so  nearly  im- 


20  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1 

Exact  regularity.  Tlic  celestial  clock.  Siriua. 

perceptible  that  we  must  watch  them  days  or  weeks  to 
he  satisfied  that  they  move  at  all. 

Measureless  distance,  did  I  say?  No.  The  Creator 
of  this  moving  world  has  framed  an  intellect  which  has 
surveyed  the  bounds  of  its  orbit.  Its  distance  is  meas- 
ured, and  its  mighty  mass  is  weighed  as  accurately  as 
any  distance,  or  any  weight  can  be  ascertained;  and 
human  calculation  will  tell  precisely  what  situation,  at 
any  instant,  hundreds  of  years  hence,  the  planet  itself 
and  every  one  of  its  satellites  will  have  assumed.  The 
maker  of  this  machinery  set  it  in  motion  at  least  six  thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  yet  so  precise,  so  unaltered  and 
unalterable  is  the  regularity  with  which  he  carries  it  on, 
that  its  motions  are  now  the  very  standard  of  exactness 
among  men.  By  these  revolutions,  an  observer  in  the 
remotest  lands  finds  what  is  the  exact  time  at  his  distant 
home,  and  learns  the  very  distance  which  separates  him 
from  it.  It  is  in  fact  an  illuminated  clock  which  God 
has  placed  in  the  heavens,  and  whose  motions  he  regu- 
lates, so  as  to  make  it  an  unerring  guide  to  man. 

Turn  now  to  another  quarter,  and  you  see  far,  far 
beyond  all  that  we  have  yet  observed,  a  brilliant  star,  the 
brightest  among  all  the  constellations  around.  It  is  Si- 
rius;  the  fixed  unaltered  Sirius.  He  has  been  watched 
for  ages,  and  gazed  upon  by  ten  thousand  eyes,  but  no 
one  has  discovered  in  him  the  slightest  motion  or  change. 
He  keeps  his  precise  place  among  the  feebler  compan- 
ions around  him.  His  lustre  never  waxes  nor  wanes. 
No  telescope  will  enlarge  or  alter  him,  or  bring  him 
nearer,  and  from  two  stations  a  hundred  and  ninety  mil- 
lions of  miles  apart,  he  appears  in  the  same  place,  and 
shines  with  the  same  brightness,  and  his  unalterable 
beam  comes  apparently  from  the  same  direction. 

But  inconceivably  remote  as  this  star  is  from  us,  we 
can  see  far,  very  far  beyond  him.  The  eye  penetrates 
between  him  and  those  around,  away  into  boundless  re- 


Ch.   1.]  THE    DEITY.  21 

The  Panorama  of  the  Universe.  Childish  illusion, 

gions,  where  the  vista  stretches  on  from  star  to  star,  and 
from  cluster  to  cluster,  in  endless  perspective.  The 
faint  nebula  is  perhaps  the  most  remote  of  all,  whose  dim 
and  delicately  penciled  light,  in  the  very  remotest  sky,  is, 
every  ray  of  it,  the  concentrated  effulgence  of  a  blazing 
sun,  so  inconceivably  distant  however,  that  their  united 
power  can  produce  only  the  vision  of  a  little  faint  cloud, 
apparently  just  ready  to  melt  away  and  disappear. 

Such  is  the  scene  as  it  would  present  itself  to  an  observ- 
er, who  could  escape  for  an  hour  from  the  obstructions  to 
the  view  at  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  from  the  dim- 
ness and  the  reflections  of  our  atmosphere.  Our  globe 
itself  cuts  off  one  half  of  the  visible  universe  at  all  times, 
and  the  air  spreads  over  us  a  deep  canopy  of  blue,  which 
during  the  day,  shuts  out  entirely  the  other  half  But 
were  the  field  open,  we  should  see  in  every  direction  the 
endless  perspective  of  suns  and  stars  as  I  have  describ- 
ed them.  And  this  too,  all  around  us.  Above  and 
below,  to  the  east  and  to  the  west,  to  the  north  and  to 
the  south.  The  conception  of  childhood, — and  it  is  one 
which  clings  to  us  in  maturer  years,  —  that  above  the 
blue  sky  there  is  a  heaven  concealed,  where  the  Deity 
sits  enthroned,  is  a  delusive  one.  God  is  everywhere. 
He  has  formed  these  worlds,  these  countless  suns,  and 
where  we  see  his  works,  there  we  see  his  presence  and 
agency.  But  the  beautiful  canopy  above  us  does  not 
conceal  from  us  a  material  heaven  beyond.  We  can  ac- 
tually penetrate  it,  and  see  that  there  is  no  heaven  there. 
The  Deity  is  the  all  pervading  power,  which  lives 
and  acts  throughout  the  whole.  He  is  not  a  separate 
existence  having  a  special  habitation  in  a  part  of  it.  If 
we  look  in  every  direction  through  this  magnificent 
scene,  we  behold  proofs  of  the  active  presence  of  the 
Deity  in  it  all,  but  there  is  no  material  temple,  no  throne, 
no  monarch  with  visible  tokens  of  majesty.  In  fact  if 
there  was  any  quarter  of  the  universe  more  magnificent 


22  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1. 

m , 

No  visible  Deity.  The  spirit; 'seen  only  in  his  works. 

than  the  rest,  with  a  visible  potentate  seated  there  wield- 
ing his  sceptre,  that  visible  potentate  would  not,  could  not 
be  God.  It  must  be  a  creation,  not  the  universal,  un- 
caused creator.  It  might  be  a  manifestation  of  the  su- 
preme power,  but  it  would  not  be,  and  could  not  be  that 
power  itself,  which  from  its  very  nature  is  universal  in  its 
presence,  and  which  consequently  no  limits  and  no  place 
can  confine. 

It  will  be  observed  by  the  reader,  that  I  am  speaking 
here  of  a  heaven  considered  as  the  seat  of  government 
occupied  by  a  visible  Deity  on  a  throne.  That  the  fu- 
ture residence  of  the  happy,  will  be  a  definite  place, 
where  extraordinary  tokens  of  God's  presence,  and  ex- 
traordinary manifestations  of  his  power  and  glory  will  be 
seen,  is  highly  probable.  I  am  speaking  only  of  concep- 
tions which  make  the  Deity  himself  corporeal,  not  spirit- 
ual, assign  him  a  special  place,  instead  of  regarding  him 
as  the  great  invisible  spirit,  every  part  of  the  wide  uni- 
verse being  equally  his  home. 

Banish  then,  for  this  is  the  object  to  which  I  have  been 
in  these  paragraphs  aiming,  all  material  ideas  of  a  Deity, 
and  do  not  let  your  imagination  struggle  to  find  its  way 
upwards  to  sorrje  material  heaven,  with  indefinite  and  idle 
conceptions  of  a  monarch  seated  on  a  throne.  The  strik- 
ing and  beautiful  metaphors  of  the  Bible  never  were 
intended  to  give  us  this  idea.  God  is  a  Spirit,  it  says 
in  its  most  emphatic  tone.  A  spirit;  that  is,  he  has  no 
form,  no  place,  no  throne.  Where  he  acts,  there  only 
can  we  see  him.  He  is  the  wide  spread  omnipresent 
power,  which  is  everywhere  employed,  —  but  which  we 
can  never  see,  and  never  know,  except  so  far  as  he  shall 
manifest  himself  by  his  doings. 

If  we  thus  succeed  in  obtaining  just  conceptions  of  the 
Deity  as  the  invisible  and  universal  power,  pervading  all 
space,  and  existing  in  all  time,  we  shall  at  once  perceive 
that  the  only  way  by  which  he  can  make  himself  known 


Ch.   1.]  THE  DEITY.  23 

Various  manifestations.  Unworthy  conceptions  of  God, 

to  his  creatures,  is  by  acting  himself  out,  as  it  were,  in  his 
works;  and  of  course  the  nature  of  the  manifestation 
which  is  made  will  depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  works. 
In  the  structure  of  a  solar  system,  with  its  blazing  centre 
and  revolving  worlds,  the  Deity,  invisible  itself,  acts  out 
its  mighty  poicevj  and  the  unerring  perfection  of  its  in- 
tellectual skill.  At  the  same  time,  while  it  is  carrying 
on  these  mighty  movements,  it  is  exercising  in  a  very 
different  scene,  its  untiring  industry,  and  unrivalled  taste, 
in  clothing  a  mighty  forest  with  verdure,  bringing  out  in 
beauty  its  millions  of  opening  buds,  and  painting,  by  slow 
and  cautious  steps,  the  petal  of  every  jfllower,  and  every 
insect's  wing.  And  so  everywhere  this  unseen  and  uni- 
versal Essence,  acts  out  its  various  attributes,  by  its 
different  works.  We  can  learn  its  nature  only  by  the 
character  of  the  effects  which  spring  from  it. 

But  I  hear  my  reader  say,  "  I  cannot  dispel  the  idea 
that  there  is  above  me,  somewhere  in  the  lofty  sky,  the 
peculiar  residence  of  Jehovah,  from  which  he  puts  forth, 
as  it  were,  his  arm,  and  produces  all  these  effects  in  the 
more  distant  regions  of  his  creation;  and  I  cannot  but 
hope  that  one  day  I  shall  see  him  there." 

See  him  there !  What  do  you  expect  to  see  ?  What 
can  you  see .''  There  is  nothing  but  form  and  color  which 
is  visible  to  the  human  eye.  And  is  the  Deity  form  and 
color?  No.  Dispel  these  unworthy  conceptions  of  God. 
Go  out  in  the  evening,  and  gaze  up  into  the  clear  sky, 
till  you  realize  that  you  can  see  away  into  those  distant 
regions,  far  beyond  the  sphere  which  your  childish  im- 
agination has  assigned  as  the  residence  of  God.  Then 
reflect  that  the  whole  scene  which  you  thus  gaze  into, 
will,  in  a  few  hours,  be  beneath  your  feet.  Try  to  dispel 
the  illusion,  and  thoroughly  fix  in  your  mind,  so  that  it 
shall  never  leave  you,  the  conception  that  the  Deity  is 
the  all-pervading,  universal  and  invisible  power.  He  is 
below,  as  much  as  he  is  above ;  for  if  we  could  perforate 


24  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1. 

Exhibitions  of  power;  love;  benevolence;  skill. 

the  earth,  and  look  through  to  what  is  beneath  our  feet, 
we  should  find  tliere  as  many  worlds,  as  many  blazing 
suns  and  shining  stars,  and  as  endless  perspectives  of 
brightness  and  beauty,  all  marking  the  presence  and  the 
agency  of  God,  as  we  ever  see  above. 

This  universal  essence  then,  must  display  to  us  its  na- 
ture, by  acting  itself  out  in  a  thousand  places,  by  such 
manifestations  of  itself,  as  it  wishes  us  to  understand. 
Does  God  desire  to  impress  us  with  the  idea  of  his  pow- 
er.'' He  darts  the  lightning  from  cloud  to  cloud, — or 
rolls  the  thunder, — or  shakes  continents  by  his  unseen 
hand.  Docs  he  wish  to  beam  upon  us  in  love?  What 
can  be  more  expressive  than  the  sweet  summer  sunset, 
and  the  thousand  nameless  tints  and  hues  which  give  its 
expression  of  peace  and  happiness  to  the  landscape,  and 
air,  and  sky  of  evening.  How  can  he  make  us  acquaint- 
ed with  his  benevolence  and  skill  ?  Why  by  acting  them 
out  in  some  mechanism  which  exhibits  them.  He  may 
construct  an  eye,  or  a  hand  for  man,  filling  them  with 
ingenious  contrivances  for  our  benefit,  so  numerous,  that 
the  very  being  who  uses  them  may  be  centuries  in  ex- 
ploring their  mysterious  wonders  and  yet  not  learn  them 
all.  How  can  he  give  us  some  conception  of  his  intel- 
lectual powers?  He  can  plan  the  motions  of  planets, 
and  so  exactly  balance  their  opposing  forces,  that  thou- 
sands of  years  shall  not  accumulate  the  slightest  error, 
or  disturb  the  unchanging  precision  of  their  way.  But 
the  great  question,  after  all  is  to  come.  It  is  the  one  to 
which  we  have  meant  that  all  which  we  have  been  say- 
ing should  ultimately  tend.  How  can  such  a  being  ex- 
hibit the  moral  principle  by  which  his  mighty  energies 
are  all  controlled  r 

He  is  an  unseen,  universal  power,  utterly  invisible  to 
us,  and  imperceptible,  except  so  far  as  he  shall  act  out 
his  attributes  in  what  he  does.  Hovj  shall  he  act  out 
moral  principle?     It  is  easy  by  his  material  creations,  to 


Ch.  1.]  THE   DEITT.  25 

Moral  character  displayed  in  Jesua  Christ. 

make  any  impression  upon  us,  which  material  objects 
can  make;  but  how  shall  he  exhibit  to  us  the  moral  beau- 
ty of  justice,  and  benevolence,  and  mercy  between  man 
and  man  ?  How  shall  he  exhibit  to  us  clearly  his  desire 
that  sorrow  and  suffering  on  earth  should  be  mitigated, 
and  injuries  forgiven,  and  universal  peace  and  good  will 
reign  among  the  members  of  this  great  family.  Can  he 
do  this  by  the  thunder,  the  lightning  or  the  earthquake? 
Can  he  do  it  by  the  loveliness  of  the  evening  landscape, 
or  the  magnificence  and  splendor  of  countless  suns  and 
stars?  No.  He  might  declare  his  moral  attributes  as 
he  might  have  declared  his  power;  but  if  he  would  bring 
home  to  us  the  one,  as  vividly  and  distinctly  as  the  other, 
he  must  act  out  his  moral  principles,  by  a  moral  mani- 
festation, in  a  moral  scene;  and  the  great  beauty  of 
Christianity  is,  that  it  represents  him  as  doing  so.  He 
brings  out  the  purity,  and  spotlessness,  and  moral  glory 
of  the  Divinity,  thi-ough  the  workings  of  a  human  mind, 
called  into  existence  for  this  purpose,  and  stationed  in  a 
most  conspicuous  attitude  among  men.  In  the  movements 
of  a  planet  we  see  the  energy  of  the  Deity  in  constant 
occupation,  showing  us  such  powers  and  principles  as 
majestic  motion  can  show,  and  in  the  moral  movements 
of  a  mind,  in  which  the  energies  of  a  Deity  equally 
mingle,  and  which  they  equally  guide,  we  have  the  far 
more  important  manifestation  which  the  movements  of 
thought  and  feeling  can  show.  Without  some  direct 
manifestation  of  the  Deity  in  the  spiritual  world,  the  dis- 
play of  his  character  would  be  fatally  incomplete,  and  it 
is  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  more  than  harmony  which 
exists  between  nature  and  revelation,  that  the  latter  does 
thus,  in  precise  analogy,  exactly  complete  what  the  for- 
mer had  begun.  Thus  the  moral  perfections  of  divinity 
show  themselves  to  us  in  the  only  way  by  which,  so  far 
as  we  can  see,  it  is  possible  directly  to  show  them,  by 
coming  out  in  action,  in  the  very  field  of  human  duty,  by 
3 


26                                          THE    CORNER-STONE. 

[Ch.  K 

Studying  God's  ciiaracter. 

Hiu  works  examined. 

a  mysterious  union  with  a  human  intellect  and  human 
powers.  It  is  God  manifest  in  the  flesh;  the  visible 
moral  image  of  sm  all  pervading  moral  deity,  himself  for 
ever  invisible. 

My  object  in  this  chapter,  thus  far,  has  been  to  show 
my  readers,  in  what  way,  and  on  what  principles  they 
are  to  study  the  character  of  God.  The  substance  of 
the  view,  which  I  have  been  wishing  to  impress  upon 
your  minds,  is,  that  we  are  to  expect  to  see  him  solely 
through  the  manifestations  he  makes  of  himself  in  his 
works.  We  have  seen  in  what  way  some  of  the  traits 
of  his  character  are  displayed  in  the  visible  creation, 
and  how  at  last  he  determined  to  manifest  his  moral 
character,  by  bringing  it  into  action  through  the  medium 
of  a  human  soul.  The  plan  was  carfied  into  effect,  and 
the  mysterious  person  thus  formed  appears  for  the  first 
time  to  our  view,  in  the  extraordinary  boy,  whom  we  left 
sitting  in  the  temple,  an  object  of  wonder,  which  must 
have  been  almost  boundless,  since  the  power  which  was 
manifesting  itself  in  him  was  unknown.  We  have  now 
in  the  succeeding  chapters  of  this  book,  to  follow  the 
circumstances  and  events  of  his  remarkable  history. 

Before  we  proceed  however,  we  have  a  few  things  of 
a  practical  character  to  say,  which  are  suggested  by  this 
subject. 

1.  A  young  christian  may  derive  great  advantage,  and 
enjoy  much  pleasure  in  studying  the  character  of  God 
on  the  principles  of  this  chapter.  I  do  not  mean  by 
reading  books  on  the  subject,  but  by  making  your  own 
observations  and  reflections  upon  the  scene  and  the 
objects  around  you.  There  are  certain  highly  wrought 
contrivances,  such  as  the  eye,  and  the  hand,  which  were 
long  since  exhibited  as  proofs  of  divine  wisdom,  and  they 
have  been  so  exclusively  dwelt  upon  by  writers  since,  as 
almost  to  produce  the  impression  upon  those  who  read 


Ch.   l.J  THE    DEITY.  27 

An  experiment.  The  ripe  apple's  stem. 

passively,  that  these  are  all,  or  certainly  the  chief  indi- 
cations of  divine  wisdom.  Whereas  you  cannot  take  a 
walk,  or  sit  at  an  open  window,  without  finding  innume- 
rable examples  as  unequivocal  as  these. 

A  young  Lady  of  active  mind,  who  was  out  of  health, 
and  forbidden  by  her  physician  to  read  or  study,  and 
who  complained  that  she  did  not  know  how  to  employ  her 
thoughts,  was  advised  by  a  friend  to  take  a  walk,  and 
see  how  many  proofs  of  divine  contrivance  she  could 
find.  Such  an  experiment,  I  would  advise  all  my  readers 
to  try.  With  a  very  little  ingenuity,  they  will  succeed 
much  better  than  they  would  imagine.  Should  any 
make  the  attempt,  and  reduce  to  writing  the  result  of 
the  observations  made,  the  report  might  be  perhaps 
somewhat  as  follows  : 

"From  the  yard  of  my  father's  house,  I  passed  through 
a  gate  into  the  garden,  intending  to  cross  it  and  seek 
for  my  proofs  of  design,  in  the  fields  and  wood  beyond. 
As  I  passed  along  the  walk,  however,  I  observed  several 
apples  lying  on  the  ground,  under  a  tree.  I  took  up 
one  and  found  that  it  was  ripe.  I  was  thinking  whether 
tliere  was  not  design  in  the  smooth  tight  skin  by  which 
the  apple  was  covered,  protecting  it  so  fully  from  the 
rain,  and  thought  that  next  spring,  when  the  apples  were 
about  half  formed,  I  would  carefully  pare  one  while  it 
was  on  the  tree,  and  then  leave  it,  to  see  what  effect  the 
loss  of  its  skin  would  have  on  its  future  growth. 

"  None  but  the  ripe  apples  had  fallen  to  the  ground. 
It  seems  then  that  when  the  fruit  has  come  to  its  maturi- 
ty, it  is  so  contrived  as  to  let  go  its  hold,  and  fall.  There 
appears  to  be  no  natural  connexion  between  the  maturity 
of  the  fruit  and  the  weakness  of  the  stem  precisely  at  its 
junction  with  the  tree,  particularly  as  the  rest  of  the  stem 
continues  strong  and  sound  as  before. 

"I  mellowed  one  of  the  apples,  as  the  boys  term  it,  by 


28  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1. 

Juices.  Cells.  The  vine  and  its  tendrils.  Cuotraction. 

striking  it  rapidly  against  a  smooth  post,  without  how- 
ever breaking  the  skin.  Before,  though  it  was  not  very 
hard,  it  was  firm  to  tlic  touch,  but  now  it  was  soft  and 
yielding.  What  change  had  I  made  in  its  interior.''  A 
ball  of  wood  could  not  be  thus  softened  by  blows.  I 
cut  it  open.  The  juice  flowed  out  profusely.  If  I  had 
cut  it  open  just  as  it  came  from  the  tree,  not  a  drop 
would  have  fallen  to  the  ground.  I  concluded  that  the 
sweet  liquid  had  been  carefully  put  up  in  little  cells, 
which  composed  the  substance  of  the  fruit,  and  which 
had  safely  retained  it  until  my  blows  had  broken  them 
all  away,  so  as  to  mingle  their  contents  into  one  mass. 
I  thought  how  busily  the  power  of  God  was  employed, 
every  summer's  day,  in  ten  thousand  orchards,  carrying 
tliese  juices  into  every  tree,  apportioning  its  proper  share 
to  every  apple,  and  conveying  each  particle  to  its  own 
minute,  invisible  cell. 

"  Just  then  I  saw  before  me  at  a  little  distance,  a 
cucumber  vine,  which  had  spread  itself  over  the  ground, 
and  was  clinging  to  every  little  sprig  and  pebble  which 
came  in  its  way.  '  How  can  its  little  tendrils  find  what 
they  wish  to  clasp?'  thought  I,  as  I  stooped  down  to 
look  at  them.  I  observed  that  the  tendrils  which  did  not 
come  into  contact  with  any  thing,  were  nearly  or  quite 
straight,  though  some  of  them  had  grown  out  to  a  con- 
siderable length.  Every  one  however  which  touched 
any  object,  had  curled  towards  it,  and  some  had  wound 
themselves  round  so  many  times,  that  they  would  break 
rather  than  relax  their  hold.  How  delicate  must  be  the 
mechanism  of  fibres,  so  contrived  that  by  the  mere  invi- 
tation of  a  touch,  they  should  curl  and  grasp  the  object 
which  is  presented. 

"  While  looking  at  this,  and  observing  that  the  origin 
of  the  tendril  in  the  stem  of  the  vine,  was  always  at  the 
exact  place  where  a  support  would  be  most  effectual,  I 
noticed  a  small  bright  drop,  which  assumed,  as  I  slightly 


Ch.   l.J  THE   DEITY.  29 

The  dew  drop.  Its  supports.  Highly  finished  work. 

changed  my  position,  bright  hues  of  orange,  green,  blue, 
and  violet.  It  was  a  drop  of  dew,  which  lay  in  a  little 
indentation  of  the  leaf.  I  was  admiring  the  admirable 
exactness  of  its  form,  and  the  brilliancy  of  its  polished 
surface,  and  wondering  at  the  laws  of  cohesion  and  of 
light  which  could  thus  retain  every  particle  in  its  pre- 
cise position,  and  produce  images  so  perfect,  and  yet  so 
minute,  as  I  saw  reflected  there, — when  I  accidentally 
touched  the  leaf,  and  the  little  world  of  wonders  rolled 
away.  The  charm  was  broken  at  once ;  it  vanished  upon 
the  wet  ground  as  if  it  had  not  been.  The  spot  upon 
the  leaf,  where  it  had  been  lying  for  hours  was  dry. 
Thousands  of  downy  fibres,  which  God  had  fashioned 
there,  had  held  it  up,  and  similar  fibres  in  countless 
numbers  clothed  every  leaf  and  every  stem  and  every 
tendril  of  the  whole.  I  looked  over  the  garden  and  was 
lost  in  attempting  to  conceive  of  the  immense  number  of 
these  delicately  fashioned  fibres,  which  the  all  pervading 
Deity  had  been  slowly  constructing  there,  during  the 
months  that  had  just  gone  by.  And  when  I  reflected 
that  not  only  that  garden,  but  the  gardens  and  fields  all 
around  me, — the  verdure  of  the  whole  continent, — of  the 
whole  earth, — of  unnumbered  worlds  besides,  was  all 
as  exquisitely  finished  as  this,  the  mind  shrunk  back 
from  the  vain  effort  to  follow  out  the  reflection." 

But  enough.  Such  a  narrative  might  be  continued  in- 
definitely, and  the  young  christian  who  will  actually  go 
forth  to  study  God's  character  in  garden  and  forest  and 
field,  will  find  no  end  to  his  discoveries.  And  the  very 
substances  which  are  most  common,  and  which  he  has 
been  accustomed  to  look  upon  with  the  slightest  interest, 
he  will  find  teeming  with  the  most  abundant  proofs  of 
the  Creator's  benevolence  and  skill,  and  the  boundless 
resources  of  his  power.  Take  for  instance,  water, 
which,  as  it  lies  before  us  in  a  bowl,  appears  as  simple, 

3* 


50  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   1. 

Water.  I'lie  tleccy  cloud.  Snow  Btdiuis  and  snow  Oakea. 

and  as  little  mechanical  in  its  structure,  as  any  thing  can 
possibly  be;  and  yet  weeks  would  not  be  suflicient  to 
describe  its  wonders.  See  it  now  gliding  in  a  smooth 
gentle  current  to  the  ocean,  over  golden  sands,  enchain- 
ing us  for  hours  upon  its  banks,  to  gaze  upon  its  rippling 
surface,  and  into  its  clear  depths, — and  now  rolling  in 
the  billows  of  the  ocean,  which  toss,  with  terrific  power, 
the  proudest  structures  that  men  can  frame,  as  easily  as 
they  do  the  floating  sca-wecd.  Again  it  assumes  an 
invisible  form,  and  the  same  particles,  under  a  diflJerent 
law,  float  imperceptible  in  the  atmosphere,  or  by  their 
almost  resistless  repulsion,  work  the  mightiest  engines 
which  man  can  construct.  The  Protean  substance  again 
appears  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  light  fleecy  cloud,  sailing 
in  the  clear  blue  sky.  And  what  is  a  cloud?  It  presents 
only  a  surface  of  whiteness  to  the  eye:  but  it  is  com- 
posed of  countless  drops,  turned  to  their  true  spherical 
form  with  mathematical  precision,  and  gently  descen- 
ding through  the  air,  as  fast  as  their  superior  weight  can 
find  its  way.  Every  fleecy  cloud  is  in  fact  a  shower, 
with  drops  smaller  indeed  than  those  of  rain,  and  descent 
ding  more  slowly,  and  consumed  by  tho  warm  air  below 
them,  before  they  reach  the  earth.  If  we  could  see  the 
gradual  formation  and  dissipation  of  such  a  drop,  as 
particle  after  particle  comes  to  increase  it,  or  flies  away, 
we  should  see  ihe  operation  of  the  Deity;  and  when  we 
think  how  many  clouds  and  storms  sweep  over  the  sky, 
every  minute  globule  of  which  must  be  formed  under  the 
hand  of  God,  we  shall  see  how  boundlessly  multiplied 
are  the  operations  of  his  hands. 

But  the  half  is  not  yet  told.  Come  out  in  the  snow- 
storm, and  after  surveying  the  vast  extent  of  country 
buried  in  its  white  wintry  covering,  look  up  into  the  sky, 
and  estimate,  if  you  can,  the  millions  of  descending  flakes. 
Every  one  of  these  flakes,  countless  as  they  are,  is 
formed  and  fashioned  after  its  proper  model.    It  is  crys- 


Ch.   1.]  THE   DEITY.  31 

Perfect  workmanship.  The  bubble.  Its  structure. 

talized  in  a  precise  form,  every  particle  takes  its  precise 
place,  every  point  of  the  beautiful  star  has  its  proper 
acuteness,  and  although  in  an  hour  a  southern  rain  is 
to  melt  and  destroy  them  all,  still  not  one  is  neglected, 
not  one  is  slighted,  but  every  individual  flake,  of  all  the 
millions,  is  fashioned  with  as  much  exactness  and  care 
as  if  it  was  expressly  intended  for  the  examination  of  the 
chymist  or  philosopher.  Now  think  of  the  vast  fields 
of  snow  which  whiten  the  arctic  regions, — think  of  the 
eternal  storms  which  sweep  the  polar  skies,  and  which 
follow  the  retreating  sun  every  season,  far  down  towards 
his  own  peculiar  climes,  and  conceive,  if  you  can,  the 
extent  of  the  work,  which  the  all  pervading  Deity  has 
continually  to  do. 

There  is  then  no  end  to  the  forms  which  this  simple 
substance  assumes,  in  the  changes  through  which  the 
Deity  carries  it.  I  will  mention  one  more,  because  it 
illustrates  peculiarly  the  idea  that  the  most  common 
objects  are  the  most  extraordinary,  if  we  really  look  at 
them  with  an  observing  eye.  It  is  the  bubble;  one  of 
the  most  surprising  things  in  nature,  and  yet  one  at  which 
nobody  ever  thinks  of  being  surprised. 

In  order  that  we  may  examine  it  more  conveniently, 
let  us  imagine  it  to  be  enlarged,  for  it  is  plain  that  its 
character  does  not  depend  at  all  upon  its  size.  Imagine 
it  then  to  be  enlarged;  suppose  one,  twenty  feet  in 
height,  were  to  stand  before  you.  What  a  magnificent 
dome!  Pure,  transparent,  glistening  in  the  sun,  and 
irised  by  a  thousand  hues,  which  float  and  wave  and 
spread  in  graceful  and  ceaseless  motion  on  its  surface! 
And  yet  this  dome  is  built,  by  its  architect,  of  what  ?  Of 
marble  blocks,  fitted  into  one  another  with  the  care 
which  man  must  exercise  to  construct  his  arch  or  dome.'' 
Of  iron  bars  to  strengthen  the  sides  and  sustain  the 
summit.'*  No:  but  of  fluid  particles,  which  glide  and 
swim  among  each  other,  as  if  they  had  no  connexion 


32  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   I 

lu  wonderful  mechanism.  Intellectual  and  moral  exhibitions. 

whatever.  They  are  bound  togcUier,  firmly  and  exactly 
balanced,  and  yet  with  such  admirable  skill,  that  every 
one  is  free  to  float  and  move  where  it  will.  The  edifice 
is  so  strong,  that  if  a  heavy  body  falls  upon  it,  it  either 
glides  down  its  side,  or  cleaves  its  summit;  and  the 
magic  structure  safely  withstands  the  shock.  It  regains 
in  an  instant  its  form,  as  true,  as  symmetrical  and  as 
perfect  as  before;  and  yet,  stable  as  it  thus  is,  every 
stone  in  the  edifice  is  in  motion,  and  glides  gracefully, 
and  at  perfect  liberty,  among  the  rest.  It  is  indeed  a 
wonder.  The  laws  of  reflection  and  cohesion  and  equi- 
librium, which  every  bubble  brings  into  play,  it  would 
require  a  volume  to  elucidate,  and  yet  the  mighty  ope- 
rator, seeming  to  find  pleasure  in  endless  occupation, 
dashes  them  out  in  the  utmost  perfection,  under  every 
waterfall;  by  means  of  them  he  surmounts  every  one  of 
the  countless  waves  of  ocean  with  its  snowy  crest,  and 
whitens  a  hundred  thousand  miles  of  sandy  beach  and 
rocky  shore,  with  a  perpetual  fringe  of  foam. 

But  after  all,  innumerable  and  wonderful  as  are  these 
works  of  the  Deity,  these  modes  of  acting  out  his  attri- 
butes, there  are  far  more  interesting  manifestations  of 
his  character.  For,  exciting  and  animating  as  are  such 
glimpses  as  these  of  the  workings  of  the  Almighty,  it 
is  only  such  attributes  as  skill,  power,  taste,  invention, 
which  are  brought  into  view  by  them.  They  are  most 
striking  exhibitions  it  is  true,  but  they  are  exhibitions 
of  cold  intellect  only,  after  all.  The  splendor  of  the 
evening  sky,  the  sublimity  of  a  tempest,  the  exquisite 
delicacy  of  structure  which  we  see  in  microscopic  plants 
and  animals,  affect  us  strongly,  but  it  is  little  more  than 
a  philosophical  interest  in  a  power  and  a  skill,  so  infi- 
nitely varied  in  its  designs,  and  so  admirable  in  its  ex- 
ecution. 

But  you  can  go  much  farther  than  this,  you  can 
examine  even  in  nature,  the  moral  exhibitions  of  God's 


Ch.   1.]  THE   DEITY.  33 

An  imaginary  walk  in  June.  God  is  lova. 

character,  and  as  we  pass  from  these  examples  of  mere 
mechanism,  to  those  which  exhibit  to  us  the  moral  feel- 
ings of  the  being  who  performs  these  works,  our  hearts 
are  touched.  I  will  take,  to  illustrate  this,  one  of  the 
lowest  examples  of  what  I  mean. 

It  is  June.  We  walk  out  in  some  retired  and  unin- 
habited region,  in  the  midst  of  the  forests,  and  find  all 
nature  thronged  with  active  and  happy  life.  Insects 
unnumbered  sport  in  the  sun,  or  skip  upon  the  bright 
surface  of  the  lake.  Nimble  animals  chase  one  another 
upon  the  branches  of  the  trees,  or  hide  in  hollow  trunks, 
or  gather  nuts  and  fruits  which  fall  around  them,  in  in- 
exhaustible profusion.  And  what  is  all  this  for?  Per- 
haps for  hvndreds  of  miles  around,  there  is  not  a  human 
habitation;  no  human  eye  will  witness  this  scene,  and 
no  human  want  will  be  supplied  by  any  thing  it  produ- 
ces. What  is  it  for?  What  motive  induces  these  efforts? 
Why,  it  is  because  this  mighty  architect  whose  power  is 
so  great,  and  whose  field  is  so  boundless,  loves  to  exer- 
cise that  power  in  every  corner  of  that  wide  spread  field, 
for  the  purpose  of  producing  enjoyment.  No  person  can 
look  on  such  a  scene,  with  any  thing  like  proper  views 
of  it,  without  feeling  a  glow  of  new  interest  and  warmer 
attachment  towards  its  mighty  Author.  The  mere  proofs 
of  power  and  contrivance  and  skill,  in  the  specimens  of 
meghanism  which  have  been  noticed,  awaken  strong  in- 
tellectual interest; — but  it  touches  the  heart,  and  awakens 
a  deeper  and  warmer  emotion  there,  when  we  see  this 
architect,  while  actually  carrying  on  the  mighty  mechan- 
ism of  the  heavens,  still  busily  engaged  in  this  seclud- 
ed valley,  filling  thousands  and  millions  of  his  creatures 
with  enjoyment,  as  if  taking  pleasure  in  witnessing  the 
frolics  of  an  insect;  and  drawing  so  copiously  upon  his 
stores  of  skill  and  power,  to  make  a  squirrel  or  a  robin 
happy. 

The  robin;  just  look  for  a  moment  at  his  nest  in  the 


34                                       THE    CORNER-STONE. 

[Ch.  1. 

The  robin  and  his  nest.                  God'i«  care  of  him. 

The  pair. 

midst  of  this  valley  of  peace.  It  is  fixed  securely  in  a 
cluster  of  branches,  sheltered  just  enough  by  the  foliage 
around,  and  in  it  arc  three  or  four  tender,  helpless, 
unfledged  birds  lying  together.  The  open  air  and  the 
broad  sky  is  over  their  heads;  nothing  but  the  hanging 
leaf  protects  them  from  an  enemy.  They  have  no  power 
to  fly,  no  power  to  resist;  hunger  is  corning  on  and  they 
cannot  j)rovide  food;  but  they  lie  alone  and  helpless  and 
weak,  the  very  picture  of  defencelessness  and  exposure. 
But  they  are  safe  and  happy.  God  makes  them  his 
care.  They  cannot  bear  cold;  God  has  guarded  them 
against  it,  by  so  poising  the  ponderous  earth,  and  so 
carefully  regulating  its  motions,  that  no  nipping  frost,  and 
no  storm  of  snow  can  possibly  come  to  desolate  their  little 
dwelling.  They  cannot  defend  themselves  from  violence 
or  escape  from  it.  True;  and  God  has  so  regulated  the 
instincts  and  propensities  of  the  millions  of  living  things 
around  them,  that  they  shall  be  exposed  to  none.  They 
cannot  provide  themselves  with  food,  and  it  will  take  but 
very  few  hours  to  bring  them  to  excruciating  sufl^ering 
unless  they  are  supplied.  But  they  will  be  supplied. 
God  has  sent  out  his  messengers  to  provide  for  them. 
One  flies  from  tree  to  tree  in  a  distant  part  of  the  forest, 
and  the  other  perhaps  hops  upon  the  shore  of  the  brook  or 
pond.  The  trees  around  them  are  filled  with  thousands 
of  other  birds,  alluring  them  by  their  songs,  and  brighter 
vales  and  more  shady  trees  invite  them  to  stay.  But  no. 
God  has  bound  them  to  one  another;  and  to  their  help- 
less young,  by  a  mechanism,  as  incomprehensible  as  it  is 
beautiful  in  its  results.  It  allows  them  to  fly  freely  and 
unfettered  as  they  choose,  but  it  retains  its  indissoluble 
hold  wherever  they  go.  No  song  of  a  stranger  will  make 
them  forget  one  another;  no  other  nest  will  lead  them  to 
forget  their  own;  no  sunny  bank  or  shady  grove  will 
have  charms  enough  to  detain  them;  but  faithful  to  their 
trust  they  toil  industriously  through  the  day,  and  unless 


Ch.   1.]  THE    DEITY.  35 

The  scene  changed.  January.  Plans  for  protection. 

death  or  violence  keep  them  away,  they  will  be  ready 
with  their  supply,  when  at  night  their  helpless  young 
open  their  mouths  and  cry  for  food.  We  cannot  com- 
prehend the  admirable  mechanism  by  which  these  results 
are  secured,  but  we  love  the  character  which  our  Father 
manifests  in  securing  them. 

But  let  us  change  the  scene.  It  is  January,  and  we 
walk  out  into  the  same  forest,  and  look  upon  the  same 
stream  which  in  summer  was  the  scene  of  so  much  life 
and  activity  and  happiness.  How  changed!  Where  are 
the  insects  now,  which  sported  in  the  sunbeams,  on  the 
glassy  surface  of  the  water?  That  surface  is  still  more 
glassy  now, —  solid  and  cold, —  and  over  it  scud  the  dry 
wreaths  of  snow  before  the  bleak  wind.  Where  are  now 
the  thousand  forms  of  happy  life,  which  enlivened  every 
bank  and  fluttered  from  flower  to  flower.'*  Alas!  sunny 
bank  and  gay  flower,  and  verdant  turf  are  gone!  The 
deep  snow  clothes  the  whole  surface  of  the  ground,  cov- 
ering every  smaller  plant,  and  rising  around  the  naked 
trunks  of  the  tall  trees, — hanging  in  wreaths  over  the 
banks,  and  fast  accumulating,  as  the  driving  wintry 
storm  brings  on  fresh  supplies  from  God's  inexhaustible 
treasuries.  Where  is  that  happy  home  among  the  branch- 
es of  the  tree.'*  The  leaves  which  sheltered  it  are  gone, 
a  mass  of  drifting  snow  marks  the  spot  where  the  deso- 
late and  forsaken  habitation  remains,  and  the'cold  dreary 
wind  whistles  through  the  naked  branches  around. 

We  must  remember  too,  that  it  is  not  in  this  one- spot 
alone,  that  this  change,  and  this  apparent  exhaustion  of 
life  has  taken  place.  For  thousands  of  miles,  in  almost 
every  direction,  in  June,  life  and  activity  and  enjoyment 
were  as  abundant  as  in  this  little  dell,  and  now  over  all 
this  wide  extent  winter  has  spread  her  reign  of  desolation 
and  death.  Has  God  left,  is  a  very  natural  inquiry,  has 
God  left;  all  these  millions  of  his  creatures  to  be  over- 
whelmed with  destruction? 


36  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   1. 

The  winter  home.  The  Cliryaalia.  The  ant. 

No;  scarcely  one.  He  has  secured  and  protected 
them  all.  Never  did  the  most  cautious  husbandman  lay 
in  his  stores,  and  prepare  his  clothing,  and  secure  the 
warmth  and  tightness  of  his  buildings  with  half  the  effi- 
ciency of  foresiglit  and  care  which  God  exhibits  every 
autumn,  in  shutting  up,  in  places  of  safety  and  protection, 
all  the  varieties  of  animal  and  vegetable  life.  The  storm 
and  the  wintry  cold  are  not  allowed  to  come  till  he  has 
given  maturity  and  strength  to  the  helpless  birds,  and 
sent  them  away  to  warmer  climes.  Other  animals  have, 
in  obedience  to  an  impulse  of  which  they  could  not  know 
the  nature  and  design,  been  industriously  employed  dur- 
ing the  summer,  in  laying  in  their  winter  stores;  and  are 
now  sheltered  in  holes,  or  hollow  trunks,  sleeping  undis- 
turbed in  the  midst  of  a  plenty  which  God  has  provided 
for  them.  Even  the  insect  tribes,  so  delicate  and  frail, 
are  all  safe.  By  a  most  admirable  arrangement,  genera 
lion  succeeds  generation  in  such  a  way,  that  the  animal 
life  of  a  whole  species  exists  in  such  a  form  at  the  ap- 
proach of  winter,  that  ice  and  cold  and  snow  can  produce 
neither  injury  nor  pain.  In  these  and  in  other  ways, 
God  has  secured  for  all,  protection,  and  exemption  from 
suffering,  and  when  the  first  wintry  midnight  storm  roars 
through  the  forest,  it  finds  every  thing  prepared  for  it. 
Every  nest  is  empty,  and  its  inmates  are  safe  in  another 
clime.  Aif  insect  existence  is  protected,  and  the  field 
mouse,  and  even  the  little  ant,  are  carefully  housed  in 
their  warm  and  sheltered  and  plentiful  home. 

By  such  examinations  as  these,  of  God's  works,  we 
6ee  that  he  is  Love;  that  he  is  not  merely  a  cold  con- 
triver, exhibiting  in  his  works  mechanical  skill  and 
power  alone,  but  that  he  has  feelings  of  atfection,  that  he 
is  susceptible  of  strong  personal  interest  and  attachment 
It  gives  us  great  intellectual  gratification  to  look  at  the 
exhibitions  of  his  mere  invention  and  power,  but  it  touclv- 
es  our  hearts,   and  awakens  a  deep  and  warm  feeling 


Ch.    1.]  THE    DEITY.  37 

God  a  father.  A  magistrate  too.  System. 

there,  when  we  see  this  skill  and  power  brought  into 
requisition  to  secure  the  protection  and  happiness  of 
even  the  lowest  creatures  he  has  formed.  The  inference 
is  irresistible,  that  he  who  takes  so  much  pains  to  bring 
to  every  unfledged  robin  or  sparrow  its  daily  supplies  of 
food,  cannot  be  indifferent  to  our  protection  and  happi- 
ness.    We  must  be  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows. 

In  studying  the  character  however  of  the  great  unseen 
Power  which  pervades  the  universe,  you  must  not  look 
exclusively  at  those  kind  and  gentle  aspects  of  it,  which 
we  have  been  exhibiting.  God  is  a  magistrate  as  well 
as  a  father.  It  is  the  part  of  a  magistrate  to  act  on 
system,  and  to  be  firm  and  decided  in  sustaining  system 
and  law.  Plans  must  be  formed  with  reference  to  the 
general  good,  and  these  plans  must  be  steadily  pursued, 
even  at  the  occasional  expense  of  great  individual  suf- 
fering. The  wider  the  field,  the  more  extensive  the 
community,  and  more  lasting  and  momentous  the  in- 
terests involved,  the  greater  is  the  necessity  of  this  de- 
termined firmness  on  the  part  of  the  magistrate  upon 
whom  the  responsibility  devolves.  If  now  you  wish  to 
make  out  for  yourself  a  Deity  such  as  may  suit  your 
mvn  weakness  or  timidity,  you  will  pass  over  this  part 
of  God's  character;  but  if  you  wish  for  truth, —  if  you 
really  wish  to  understand  what  sort  of  a  Power  it  is  that 
holds  the  reins  of  government  over  us  all,  you  will  not 
allow  this  aspect  of  his  character  to  pass  unexamined. 

Wherever  we  look  then,  whether  to  nature  or  revela- 
tion, or  to  that  more  distinct  manifestation  of  his  charac- 
ter which  the  invisible  Supreme  has  made  to  us  in  the 
person  of  Jesus  Christ,  we  shall  find  the  most  over- 
whelming, and  sometimes  appalling  proofs,  that  God  acts 
upon  system; — that  he  has  planned  a  system,  both  of 
physical  and  moral  law,  with  reference  to  the  greatest 
good  of  the  greatest  number,  and  that  this  system  he 
will  sustain,  with  the  most  determined  and  persevering 


38  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1. 

Firmneu  and  dccisiun.  The  suffering  child.  It»  mother. 

decision.  I  shrink  from  coming  to  tliis  part  of  my  sub- 
ject. Many  of  my  renders,  witliout  d(>ul)t,  who  have  fol- 
lowed me  with  all  their  hearts,  in  the  pictures  of  God's 
character  which  have  been  exhibited  so  far,  will  hang 
back  reluctant  from  what  remains.  But  we  must  know 
the  whole.  We  must  endeavor  to  understand  fully  the 
character  of  the  great  lieiiig  witli  whom  we  have  to  do. 

If  then  we  look  at  the  manifestations  of  Jehovah's 
character  which  he  has  made,  and  is  making,  in  nature 
all  around  us,  you  will  find,  as  I  said  above,  that  'he  acts 
upon  system,  and  that  he  will  pursue  the  plan  which 
public  good  requires,  firmly  and  efliciently,  even  at  the 
expense  of  great  individual  suffering.  Let  me  first 
illustrate  this,  in  regard  to  a  mere  physical  law. 

You  are  studying  God's  character,  I  will  suppose,  in 
what  you  see  of  his  works,  and  as  you  pass  by  some 
usually  quiet  and  happy  dwelling,  your  attention  is  at- 
tracted by  piercing  cries  from  within,  apparently  coming 
from  a  child  and  indicating  acute  suffering.  You  enter 
to  ascertain  the  cause,  and  find  that  a  little  infant,  just 
learning  to  delight  its  parents'  hearts  by  its  opening  fac- 
ulties of  speech  and  reason,  has  fallen  into  the  fire,  and  is 
dreadfully  burned.  The  poor  child  cries  piteously,  and 
extends  its  arms  to  its  parents  for  relief.  It  has  never 
before  known  a  pain  which  they  could  not  either  relieve 
or  mitigate,  and  its  look  of  anguish  seems  to  upbraid 
them  for  not  rescuing  it  now.  Its  agonized  parents, 
suffering  even  more  than  the  child,  look  this  way  and 
that  for  help,  but  in  vain.  The  injury  is  too  deep  to  be 
repaired.  Hour  after  hour,  nay  day  after  day,  the  in- 
tense suffering  continues,  until  fever  and  delirium  close 
the  sad  scene. 

Close  it,  did  I  say?  No.  The  child  sleeps,  but 
memory  does  not  sleep  in  the  breast  of  its  half-distracted 
mother.  For  weeks  and  months  her  eyes  will  fill  with 
tears,  and  her  heart  will  almost  burst,  as  she  looks  upon 


Ch.   I.]  THE    DEITY.  39 

Physical  law  sustained.  God's  determined  decision. 

the  deserted  little  cradle,  or  the  now  useless  toy.  Those 
heart  rending  cries  and  dying  struggles  are  perpetuated 
in  her  mind  by  faculties  which  God  has  planted  there ;  and 
the  recollection  will  for  months  and  years  haunt  her  by 
day,  and  terrify  her  in  her  midnight  dreams. 

All  this  follows  from  the  accident  of  a  moment,  for 
which  no  one  was  to  blame.  There  is  but  one  Power  in 
existence  who  could  stop  these  consequences,  after  the 
recurrence  of  the  cause.  And  will  he  do  it?  Will  he 
interpose  and  stop  the  torture,  and  heal  the  wound,  and 
bring  relief  and  happiness  once  more  to  the  distracted 
family?  Or  will  he  remain  calmly  by,  leaving  the  laws 
of  matter  and  of  mind  to  work  out  in  such  a  case  their 
awful  consequences  to  the  full? 

The  question  does  not  need  an  answer.  He  has  es- 
tablished laws  in  regard  to  the  nature  and  effects  of  fire 
upon  the  human  frame,  and  the  connexion  of  bodily  in- 
jury with  bodily  suffering,  and  the  principles  which  reg- 
ulate the  movements  of  the  human  heart,  which  he  sees 
are  best  on  the  whole.  These  laws  he  has  established. 
He  sees  that  it  is  best  that  they  should  be  liable  to  no 
exceptions  and  no  uncertainty  in  their  course,  and  he 
accordingly  ivill  carry  them  through.  Men  sometimes 
exhibit  firmness  and  decision  in  carrying  out  a  plan, 
which  is  on  the  whole  for  the  best;  but  if  we  will  look 
around  us  at  the  works  of  Providence,  which  invite  our 
examination  on  every  side,  we  shall  see  that  God  does 
net  hesitate  to  go,  in  the  execution  of  his  laws,  where 
the  firmest  and  most  decided  men  would  shrink  from  fol- 
lowing. 

Perhaps  some  persons  may  object  to  such  a  view  of 
our  Maker's  character;  but  if  they  do,  it  seems  impossi- 
ble to  avoid  the  conclusion  that  it  is  the  character  itself 
that  they  object  to,  and  not  to  any  thing  peculiar  in  this 
mode  of  exhibiting  it.  These  are  facts  which  I  have 
been  exhibiting,  not  theories      They  are  common  facts 


40  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   1. 

General  laws.  Moral  law.  Tlie  wretched  dwelling, 

too,  that  13,  the  transaction  I  liave  described  not  unfre- 
quently  occurs,  exactly  as  I  have  described  it,  and  it  is 
moreover  a  fair  specimen  of  thousands  and  tens  of  thoi>- 
sands  of  occurrences  wliich  are  precisely  analogous  to  it 
in  their  nature,  and  which  are  constantly  taking  place  in 
the  view  of  every  observer.  Nor  can  there  be  any  doubt 
of  the  explanation  I  have  given.  Tliat  God  has  ordained 
these  general  laws  no  one  can  doubt  or  deny.  That  he 
might  arrest  or  suspend  their  operation  in  individual  cases 
if  he  was  inclined  to  do  so,  is  equally  unquestionable; 
and  his  allowing  them  to  work  their  way  through  so  much 
misery,  is  proof  clear  and  undeniable  as  demonstration, 
that  though  he  loves  happiness  and  is  planning  continu- 
ally to  secure  it  for  millions  and  milHons  of  his  creatures, 
he  can  still  firmly  and  steadily  witness  individual  suffer- 
ing, when  necessary,  and  that  he  will  do  it,  rather  than 
sacrifice  the  general  good  by  violating  law. 

You  will  see  this  still  more  clearly  and  its  effects  are 
still  more  terrible,  in  regard  to  the  operations  of  moral 
law.  I  mean  law  relating  to  the  moral  conduct  of  men. 
If  you  really  wish  to  know  what  God's  actual  character 
is,  as  he  exhibits  it  in  what  he  does,  you  will  take  special 
interest  in  observing  what  he  does  in  cases  of  guilt. 

On  the  side  of  a  bleak  and  barren  hill  half  a  mile  from 
the  village  in  which  you  reside,  stands  a  miserable  house, 
or  rather  hovel,  which  has  often  attracted  your  attention 
in  your  walks,  by  its  ruinous  and  dilapidated  condition, 
and  the  pale,  sickly,  wretched  children  which  shiver  at 
the  door.  Did  you  ever  consider  what  sort  of  a  scene 
its  interior  usually  presents,  at  night.''  Come  with  me 
and  see. 

The  inner  door  hanging  by  a  single  hinge  opens 
creakingly,  and  the  cold,  empty,  miserable  apartment, 
presents  to  you  an  expression  of  wretchedness  far  more 
gloomy  than  even  the  exterior  had  led  you  to  expect. 
The  sickly,  worn  out  wife  and  mother  is  trying  in  vaia 


Ch.    1.]  THE    DEITY.  41 

The  interior.  Misery.  The  father's  return. 

to  make  out,  from  former  remnants,  some  food  for  her- 
self and  her  half-starved  children.  They  sit  around 
the  room,  or  hover  over  the  embers,  in  a  half  stupor. 
They  do  not  cry.  The  extreme  of  misery  is  silent,  and 
these  wretched  ones  are  beyond  tears.  She  is  hurrying 
through  her  work  to  get  them  away  from  an  approaching 
danger.  What  is  that  danger,  which  she  docs  not  dare 
that  they  should  meet  with  her?  Why  their  father  is 
coming  home.  If  it  was  the  lightning,  or  a  tornado,  or 
a  midnight  assassin,  she  would  gather  her  children  around 
her,  and  they  would  feel  safer  and  happier  together.  But 
their  father  is  coming  home,  and  the  uncontrollable  pas- 
sions of  an  insane  husband  and  father,  she  chooses  to 
bear  alone.  She  sends  her  children  away.  She  hides 
her  babe  in  the  most  secret  place  she  can  find; — an  ema- 
ciated, shivering  boy  spreads  over  him  the  thin  covering 
which  is  all  that  is  left,  and  draws  himself  up,  as  if  he 
was  trying  to  shrink  away  from  cold; — and  perhaps  a 
girl,  by  a  choice  of  miseries,  has  pleaded  for  permission 
to  stay  with  her  mother. 

All  this  is  however  the  mere  prelude, — the  preparation, 
anticipating  the  scene  of  real  misery  which  the  return 
of  the  abandoned  husband  and  father  is  to  bring.  But 
here  I  must  stop;  for  if  I  were  to  describe  the  scene 
which  ensues,  just  as  it  is  actually  exhibited  in  thous- 
ands and  ten  thousands  of  families  all  over  England  and 
America,  every  night,  my  readers  would  lay  down  the 
book,  sick  at  heart,  at  the  contemplation  of  the  guilt  and 
miseries  of  man. 

But  the  point  I  am  wishing  to  bring  to  your  view  in  all 
this  case,  is  this.  How  firmly  and  steadily  will  Jehovah 
go  on,  night  after  night,  for  months  and  years,  and  allow 
the  wretched  sinner  in  this  case  to  drink  all  the  bitter 
dregs  of  the  cup  he  chooses,  and  to  bring  down  its  dread- 
ful effects  upon  his  helpless  wife  and  children.     Nay  we 


42  THE    CORNER-STONE.  fCh.    1 


Unpunished  guilt,  and  suffering  innocence.  Peoaltiet. 

may  go  further  back.  For  all  this  misery  is  primarily 
caused  by  a  poison  which  another  man  supplies;  he  deals 
it  out  a  daily  potion  of  death,  and  while  his  own  head  is 
sheltered,  and  his  own  fireside  safe  from  its  effects,  he 
is  permitted  by  Providence  to  go  on  for  years,  sending 
these  streams  of  misery  into  many  families  all  around 
him.  Why  does  not  God  interpose  to  stop  this  vice 
and  suffering.'  Why  does  he  not  shelter  this  wretched 
wife,  and  warm  and  feed  these  perishing  but  innocent 
children? — innocent  at  least,  of  the  causes  of  their  mis- 
ery. Why  does  he  not  by  a  change  in  the  constitution 
of  nature  destroy  the  possiblity  of  making  a  poison  so 
excruciating  in  its  effects.^  There  can  be  but  one  an- 
swer. He  sees  that  it  is  on  the  whole  for  the  best,  that 
man  should  be  left  free  to  sin  if  he  will,  and  that  the 
nature  of  sin  should  be  shown  by  allowing  it  to  work  out 
undisturbed  its  own  awful  results  to  all  connected  with 
the  sinner.  These  plans  of  his  government  he  has  the 
firmness  to  carry  out, — though  every  year  they  cut  down 
thousands  of  wretched  wives  and  starved  children.  The 
man  who  chooses  to  send  firebrands,  arrows  and  death 
around  him,  has  under  the  government  of  God  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so.  The  door  is  wide  open.  And  the  help- 
less and  innocent  wife  and  children  must  take  the  con- 
sequences. But  oh,  thou  forlorn  and  broken-hearted 
mother,  be  of  good  courage.  Thou  art  not  forgotten, 
though  fixed  laws  must  take  their  course.  Thou  shalt 
have  a  hearing  in  due  time. 

Such  cases  as  the  above,  are  rather  cases  of  moral 
arrangements  carried  out  firmly  to  their  end,  than  exam- 
ples of  the  execution  of  the  penalties  of  a  moral  law. 
I  do  not  bring  forward  cases  of  the  latter  kind,  because 
they  are  familiar  to  every  one,  and  most  certainly  if 
God  does  not  shrink  from  individual  suffering,  when  it  is 


Ch.   1.]  THE    DEITY.  43 

Language  of  the  Bible.  Leading  traits  of  the  Divine  character. 

necessary  to  sustain  the  uniformity  of  material  processes, 
or  to  carry  out  the  moral  operations  of  his  general  sys- 
tem, who  can  imagine  that  he  will  fail  in  the  energy  of 
his  government  in  regard  to  the  consequences  of  personal 
guilt.  The  Bible  speaks  on  this  subject  in  language  so 
terrible  that  men  shrink  from  repeating  it;  but  nature 
speaks  all  around  us  more  emphatically  and  more  terribly 
still.* 

As  I  have  already  remarked,  it  would  not  be  surpris- 
ing if  some  of  my  readers  were  to  shrink  back  from 
these  views  of  the  determined  decision  which  God  man- 
ifests in  carrying  out  to  the  end,  all  these  arrangements 
which  he  has  once  deliberately  adopted  for  the  ultimate 
good  of  all.  We  cannot  deny,  however,  that  the  history 
of  God's  dealings  with  men  is  full  of  such  examples  as 
we  have  presented,  and  that  if  we  really  and  honestly 
wish  to  know  what  is  his  character  and  what  principles 
do  really  govern  his  conduct,  such  cases  deserve  a  most 
attentive  consideration.  He  who  wishes  to  frame  for 
himself  an  imaginary  Deity,  suited  to  his  own  limited 
views  and  narrow  conceptions,  will  probably  shut  his 
eyes  against  them.  We  however  wish  to  know  the  truth, 
whatever  it  may  be,  and  if  we  attempt  to  study  God's 
character  as  it  is  exhibited  in  those  manifestations  of 
himself  which  he  makes  in  his  daily  providence,  we 
shall  find  everywhere  inscribed  in  blazing  characters. 
Unbounded  power  and  skill;  Universal  and  inex- 
tinguishable love;  and  Inflexible  firmness  in  the 
execution  of  law. 

*  We  must  not  suppose  from  these  facts,  that  the  Deity  is  guided, 
in  the  government  of  the  world,  by  general  laws,  which,  though  on 
the  whole  useful  and  salutary,  are,  in  individual  cases,  mischievous 
and  only  to  be  tolerated  because  they  effect,  on  the  whole,  more  good 
than  evil.  These  laws  of  nature,  even  in  those  cases  where,  to  the 
eye  of  man,  they  produce  nothing  but  evil,  are  in  reality  as  truly 
intended  and  calculated  to  produce  good,aa  in  the  other  cases  where 
the  good  is  manifest  and  direct. 


44  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    1. 

Second  manifestation.  The  Holy  Spirit.  Contrast*  of  character. 

We  have  thus  far  exhibited  the  mode  by  which  you 
are  to  study  the  character  of  our  great  Magistrate  and 
Father,  by  his  acts;  and  this  mode  of  study,  you  will 
observe,  is  essentially  the  same,  whether  you  read  the 
record  of  his  acts  contained  in  the  Bible,  or  observe 
them  in  the  histories  of  nations  and  individuals,  or  in 
the  occurrences  of  common  life.  All  these  however 
constitute  but  one  mode  by  which  the  Deity  manifests 
himself  to  men.  There  are  two  others  which  I  must 
briefly  allude  to  here,  though  they  will  be  more  fully 
brought  to  view  in  the  future  chapters  of  this  work. 

The  second  great  manifestation  of  the  Deity  which  is 
made  to  us,  is  in  the  exertion  of  a  direct  power  upon  the 
human  heart.  In  all  ages  of  the  world,  there  have  been 
remarkable  exceptions  to  the  prevailing  selfishness  and 
sin  which  generally  reign  among  mankind.  These  ex- 
ceptions occur  in  the  earliest  history  contained  in  the 
Bible;  and  were  it  not  for  the  light  which  Christianity 
throws  upon  the  subject,  they  would  be  almost  unac- 
countable. Cain  and  Abel,  for  example,  took  entirely 
different  courses  in  reference  to  their  duties  towards 
God.  Love,  gratitude,  and  reverence  seem  to  have 
reigned  in  the  heart  of  one,  while  a  cold,  heartless,  and 
selfish  worship  was  all  thot  the  other  rendered.  Here 
is  an  extraordinary  difference  among  beings  of  the  same 
species,  possessing  the  same  native  powers  and  propensi- 
ties, and  placed  in  substantially  the  same  circumstances. 

Noah  listened  to  the  warning  voice  of  God,  while  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  gave  themselves  up  to  sin.  Why 
should  this  be  so?  Worldly  pleasure,  we  might  have 
supposed,  would  have  been  as  alluring  to  him  as  to 
others,  and  the  disposition  to  obey  and  fear  their  Maker 
as  strong  in  others  as  in  him.  But  it  was  not  so.  He 
stood  alone;  and  how  shall  the  moral  phenomenon  of  his 
solitary  virtue  amidst  universal  degeneracy  and  vice,  be 
explained } 


Ch.  1.]  THE    DEITY.  45 

Influences  of  the  Spirit.  Testimony  of  the  Bible;   of  witnesses^ 

So  in  a  multitude  of  other  cases.  The  narratives  with 
which  the  Old  Testament  is  filled  seem  designed  to  ex- 
hibit to  us  contrasts.  A  few  individuals,  with  hearts 
filled  with  filial  affection  towards  God,  form  the  bright 
parts  of  the  picture,  and  the  natural  character  of  selfish- 
ness and  sin,  acting  in  different  circumstances,  but  in  all, 
working  out  the  same  bitter  fruits,  exhibit  abundantly 
the  darker  shades.  Why  should  this  be  so?  Why 
should  Abraham  find  in  himself  a  willingness  to  obey 
God,  and  to  deal  kindly  and  justly  with  man,  while  un- 
godliness, injustice  and  cruelty  reigned  almost  all  around 
him.  Why  was  Joseph  pure  and  spotless, — conscientious, 
just  and  forgiving?  His  brothers  were  men  of  violence 
jmd  blood.  Why,  in  such  a  family  should  there  be  such 
an  exception? 

Similar  examples  have  been  always  occurring  and  the 
Bible  exhibits  them  as  the  effects  of  a  peculiar  operation 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  it  is  termed,  upon  the  human  heart. 
A  mysterious  operation,  powerful  in  its  results,  but  in- 
comprehensible in  its  nature.  This  you  will  observe  is 
a  manifestation  of  the  Divinity  entirely  different  from 
those  to  which  we  have  already  alluded.  In  the  works 
of  creation  and  Providence,  Jehovah  himself  acts,  and 
from  the  nature  of  his  actions  we  learn  his  character. 
In  his  direct  power  over  moral  agents,  he  mysteriously 
mingles  his  influences  with  their  moral  powers,  so  as  to 
lead  them  to  act,  and  by  the  character  of  the  results,  we 
likewise  in  this  case  learn  his  character.  They  are 
however  two  modes  of  manifesting  the  powers  and  char- 
acter of  the  Deity,  which  are  very  dissimilar. 

This  class  of  moral  effects  are  not  only  in  the  Bible 
ascribed  to  an  influence  from  above,  but  they  have 
always  been  so  attributed  by  the  individuals  themselves. 
Good  men,  in  all  ages,  have  always  understood,  and  have 
been  eager  to  acknowledge  their  dependence  upon  a 
higher  power,  for  all  that  is  good  in  their  hearts      They 


46  THE    CORNEIl-STONK.  [Ch.    1. 

United  testimony.  The  Son.  Seeing  face  to  face. 

have  dilicred  exceedingly  in  tlunr  modes  of  expressing 
it,  but  tlicy  Imve  agreed  substantially  as  to  the  fact.  It 
has  always  been  easy  for  an  antag(jnist  to  run  them  into 
dilliculty  and  perplexity  in  defending  the  oj)inion;  still 
they  have  clung  unceasingly  to  it;  or  returned  to  it  again 
and  again  when  torn  away;  and  go  where  you  will, 
among  mankind,  wherever  you  lind  holiness  of  heart, 
and  real  moral  virtue,  you  will  find  their  possessor  as- 
cribing them  to  a  mysterious  but  all  powerful  influence 
from  above.  It  is  so  with  the  refined  and  cultivated  in- 
tellect in  the  most  elevated  christian  community,  and  it 
is  so  with  the  humblest,  lowest  savage  that  ever  bowed 
betore  his  Maker  to  confess  and  to  abandon  his  sins.  It 
was  so  in  former  times  with  David  and  with  Paul,  and  it 
is  so  now  with  every  lonely  widow,  who,  in  God  finds 
consolation  and  even  happiness  in  the  midst  of  her 
tears;  and  with  every  sick  child,  who,  renewed  by  the 
Holy  Spirit,  finds  such  peace  with  God  that  he  can 
smile  at  death,  and  welcome  the  grave. 

A  more  full  consideration  of  this  subject  we  must 
reserve:  we  only  allude  to  it  here,  in  order  to  bring 
distinctly  forward  in  its  place,  the  fact  that  there  is  tliis, 
among  the  other  modes,  by  which  the  great  unseen 
power  manifests  himself  to  men. 

There  is  one  other;  which  we  have  already  alluded 
to, — that  more  direct  and  personal  exhibition  of  himself 
which  God  has  made  in  Jesus  Christ  his  son.  Here 
God,  for  the  first  time,  shows  himself  to  men,  openly  and 
without  a  veil.  Here  we  see  the  moral  attributes  of 
divinity  in  living  and  acting  reality.  In  those  other 
manifestations  of  himself  which  he  has  made,  "we  see 
through  a  glass  darkly,  but  here  face  to  face."  When 
he  acts  in  his  providence,  or  in  the  mysterious  and  secret 
agency  of  his  Spirit  in  human  hearts,  we  must  pause  and 
reflect,  in  order  to  come  to  conclusions;  we  must  trace 
back  causes  to  effects,  and    infer  the  principles  which 


Ch.    1.]  THE    DEITY.  4T 

Studying  God's  character.  True  mode.  Approaching  the  Deity. 

must  have  guided  them.  But  when  the  great  unseen 
assumes  our  own  human  nature,  when  he  becomes  flesh, 
and  dwells  among  us,  his  attributes  and  perfections  come 
out  into  open  day. 

Such  are  the  three  great  manifestations  of  himself  to 
men,  which  the  one  Unseen  all-pervading  essence  has 
made,  as  exhibited  to  us  in  the  Bible,  and  in  our  own 
experience  and  observation.  Though  there  have  been 
interminable  disputes  in  the  Christian  church  about  the 
language  which  has  been  employed  to  describe  these 
facts,  there  has  been  comparatively  little  dispute  among 
even  nominal  Christians  about  the  facts  themselves.  I 
have  endeavored  in  describing  them  to  go  just  as  far  as 
the  Bible  goes,  and  no  farther,  and  to  use  as  nearly  as 
possible  the  expressions  which  are  furnished  us  in  that 
sacred  volume. 

These  views,  my  readers  will  perceive,  open  a  very 
wide  field  to  be  explored  in  studying  the  character  of 
God.  Many  young  persons,  when  they  hear  of  this 
study,  form  no  idea  of  any  thing  more  than  committing 
to  memory  a  few  passages  of  scripture,  or  learning  by 
rote  the  summary  views  of  some  theological  writer.  But 
you  see  that  all  nature  and  all  revelation,  the  whole  field 
of  observation,  and  of  experience,  and  all  the  records 
of  history  are  full  of  materials.  Go  then,  and  take  no 
man's  opinions  upon  trust,  but  study  the  character  of 
God  for  yourselves  by  seeing  what  he  does. 

There  is  one  thing  more  to  be  said,  before  I  close  this 
chapter.  Many  persons  feel  a  difficulty  in  determining 
how  to  approach  the  Deity  in  prayer.  "  What  concep- 
tion," you  ask,  "  shall  we  form,  of  the  Being  whom  we 
address?  " 

The  unseen  divinity  itself,  in  its  purely  spiritual  form, 
we  cannot  conceive  of;  they  who  attempt  to  do  it  will 
find  on  a  careful  analysis  of  the  mental  operation,  that  it 


4d  THE    CORNER-STONE  [Ch.    1 

Access  by  Jesus  Christ.  Conclosioiu 

ifl  the  visible  universe  itself,  that  they  picture  to  their 
minds,  when  in  prayer  tlicy  endeavor  to  form  an  abstract 
conception  of  the  Deity  which  pervades  it.  Others  in 
imagination  look  upward,  and  form  a  confused  and  an 
absurd  idea  of  a  monarch  on  a  throne  of  marble  and  gold, 
with  crown  and  sceptre,  and  sitting  in  a  fancied  region 
which  they  call  heaven.  This  is  a  delusion  which  we 
have  already  endeavored  to  dispel.  Driven  from  this 
imagination,  the  soul  roams  throughout  the  universe 
among  suns  and  stars,  or  over  the  busy  surface  of  the 
earth,  seeking  in  vain  for  some  conceivable  image  of  the 
Deity,  some  form  on  which  the  thoughts  can  rest,  and 
towards  which  the  feelings  can  concentrate.  It  looks 
however  in  vain.  God  manifests  himself  indeed  in  the 
blazing  sun,  the  fiery  comet, —  and  in  the  verdure  and 
bloom  of  the  boundless  regions  of  the  earth;  but  these 
are  not  the  avenues  through  which  a  soul  burdened  with 
its  sins,  would  desire  to  approach  its  Maker.  The  gos- 
pel solves  the  dilTiculty.  "It  is  by  Jesus  Christ  that  we 
have  access  to  the  Father."  This  vivid  exhibition  of 
his  character,  this  personification  of  his  moral  attributes 
opens  to  us  the  way.  Here  we  see  a  manifestation  of 
divinity,  an  i3iage  of  the  invisible  God  wliich  comes 
as  it  were  down  to  us;  it  meets  our  feeble  faculties  with 
a  personification  exactly  adapted  to  their  wants,  so  that 
the  soul  when  pressed  by  the  trials  and  difficulties  of 
its  condition,  when  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  or  bowed 
down  by  remorse,  or  earnestly  longing  for  holiness,  will 
pass  by  all  the  other  outward  exhibitions  of  the  Deity, 
and  approach  the  invisible  supreme,  through  that  mani- 
festation of  himself  which  he  has  made  in  the  person  of 
Jesus  Christ,  his  son,  our  Saviour. 


Ch.  2.J                       THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS. 

49 

The  Savior's  first  words.                    His  last  words. 

Perfection. 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE   MAN   CHRIST    JESUS. 
"  Leaving  us  an  example  that  ye  should  walk  in  his  steps." 

The  very  first  words  of  our  Savior,  which  have  been 
preserved  for  us,  contain  an  expression  of  the  great  lead- 
ing principle,  which  regulated  his  whole  life.  "  I  must 
be  about  my  Father^s  business.''^  His  last  words,  too, 
show,  that  thirty  years  of  fatigue,  and  danger,  and  suffer- 
ing, did  not  extinguish  his  zeal  in  this  his  work.  "Go  ye 
into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature.^^ 
He  came  into  the  world  to  do  something,  not  for  himself, 
but  for  his  Father,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  it  entirely. 
He  was  continually  engaged  in  it  himself,  while  he  re- 
mained here,  going  from  place  to  place,  encountering 
hardship  and  danger  and  suffering,  and  all  without  any 
reference  to  his  own  selfish  interests,  but  regarding  sole- 
ly the  work  he  had  to  do  for  the  salvation  of  men.  And 
at  last,  when  he  lefl  the  world,  his  final  charge  to  his 
disciples  was,  that  they  should  be  faithful  and  persever- 
ing in  carrying  forward  this  work. 

In  fact  he  was  so  entirely  devoted  to  his  Father's  busi- 
ness, that  half  the  readers  of  his  life  do  not  imagine,  that 
he  had  any  of  his  own.  But  we  must  not  forget,  that  he 
was  a  man,  with  all  the  feelings,  and  exposed  to  all  the 
temptations  of  men.  He  might  have  formed  the  scheme 
of  being  a  Napoleon,  if  he  had  chosen.  The  world  was 
before  him.  He  had  the  opportunity,  and  so  far  as  we 
can  understand  the  mysterious  description  of  his  tempta- 
tion, he  was  urged  to  make  the  attempt. 

It  is  surprising  how  much  the  example  of  Christ  loses 
its  power  over  us,  simply  on  account  of  the  absolute 
perfection  of  it.  If  he  had  been  partly  a  lover  of  pleas- 
ure, if  he  had  for  instance  built  himself  a  splendid  maui- 

5 


do  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  2, 

Common  illuflion.  Real  clairaa  of  Christianity.  Muhometanitm. 

fiion,  and  ornamented  his  grounds,  and  devoted  some 
portion  of  his  time  to  selfish  enjoyment  tliere ;  or  if  he 
had  entered  into  political  life,  and  devoted  a  sliare  of  his 
attention  to  promoting  his  own  honor,  and  yet  if  he  had 
torn  himself  away  from  these  temptations,  so  as  finally  to 
have  devoted  his  chief  time  and  attention  to  the  glory  of 
God  and  tiie  good  of  men,  than  we  should  have  felt,  that 
the  example  was  within  our  reach.  The  selfish  and 
worldly  spirit,  which  he  would  have  exhibited,  would, 
as  it  were,  have  made  his  case  come  home  to  us,  and 
whatever  fidelity  and  zeal  he  might  have  shown  in  his 
work,  would  have  allured  us  to  an  imitation  of  it.  But 
as  it  is,  since  he  gave  himself  up  wholhj  to  his  duty,  since 
he  relinquished  the  world  altogether,  Christians  seem  to 
think,  that  his  bright  example  is  only,  to  a  very  limited 
extent,  an  example  for  them.  But  we  must  remember, 
as  I  said  above,  that  Jesus  Christ  was  a  man.  His 
powers  were  human  powers.  His  feelings  were  human 
feelings,  and  his  example  is  strictly  and  exactly  an 
example  for  all  the  world.  Still  nobody  considers  him 
a  fair  example;  at  least  very  few  do.  Most  Christians 
think,  that  the  general  principles,  which  regulate  his 
conduct,  ought  to  regulate  theirs,  but  then  the  most  they 
think  of  doing  is  to  follow  in  his  steps  slowly  and  hesi- 
tatingly, and  at  a  great  distance  behind. 

And  there  is  nothing  in  which  the  example  cwf  Christ 
takes  less  hold  of  men,  than  in  this  leading  principle  of 
his  conduct,  —  devotedness  to  his  Father's  business. 
How  perfectly  evident  it  is,  that  a  very  large  proportion 
of  professing  Christians  are  doing  their  own  business  in 
this  world,  and  not  their  Father's.  In  fact  so  universal 
is  this  sin,  that  there  are  great  numbers  of  nominal 
Christians,  who  have  no  idea,  no  conception  whatever, 
of  the  ground  which  Christianity  takes  in  regard  to  a 
man's  duty.  It  stands  strikingly  distinct  from  every 
other  religion      Mahometanism  leaves  men  to  pursue 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  51 

Paganism.  The  worldly  man.  His  character  and  habits. 

their  own  objects, —  to  live  for  themselves, —  only  it  pre- 
scribes some  rules  regulating  the  modes,  by  which  these 
aims  shall  be  pursued.  So  does  paganism, —  so  did  an- 
cient philosophy, —  so  does  modern  infidelity.  Whatever 
moral  rules  all  these  prescribe,  are  rules  to  regulate  pur- 
suits, whose  nature  and  objects  remain  unchanged.  But 
Christianity  does  no  such  thing.  It  comes  with  far  high- 
er claims, —  it  is  no  mere  regulator  of  the  machinery  of 
human  life.  It  comes  to  change  the  plan  and  object  of 
that  machinery  altogether. 

Look  at  the  history  of  a  man  engrossed  in  the  world. 
He  saw  when  he  was  young,  that  wealth  gave  considera- 
tion and  influence  to  its  possessor,  and  he  felt  a  feverish 
sort  of  pleasure,  when  he  received  the  first  hundred  dol- 
lars which  he  earned.  He  resolved  to  become  rich,  and 
in  his  eagerness  to  go  on,  he  gradually  became  less  and 
less  scrupulous  about  the  means  of  advancing.  He  vio- 
lated no  laws;  he  exposed  himself  to  no  public  disgrace, 
but  he  resorted  to  those  means  so  well  known  to  men  of 
the  world,  by  which  he  could  increase  his  own  stores  at 
the  expense  of  the  rights  or  the  happiness  of  others;  and 
by  these  means  he  has  at  length  acquired  a  fortune.  He 
usually  attends  public  worship  on  the  Sabbath,  It  would 
be  disreputable  not  to  do  so.  But  in  the  morning  and 
evening,  at  his  own  private  apartment,  he  will  post  his 
books,  or  look  over  his  accounts,  or  plan  his  voyages. 
There  is  nothing  disreputable  in  this. 

He  is  not  a  profane  man; — not  at  all,  in  his  own  opin- 
ion. It  is  true,  that  sometimes,  when  excited,  he  will 
make  use  of  what  he  acknowledges  to  be  an  improper 
expression,  but  men  will  make  allowances  for  this.  He 
does  not  do  it  to  such  an  extent  as  to  injure  his  char- 
acter. 

He  does  not  worship  God  in  his  family.  He  has  no 
particular  objection  to  religion,  but  he  has  no  taste  for  it; 
and  then,  besides,  he  has  not  time.     In  order  to  carry  on 


02  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  2 

Seriousne<!8.  He  is  changed.  One  kind  of  religion. 

his  plans,  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  go  early  to  his  count- 
ing room,  and  at  night  he  is  fatigued  and  exliaustcd,  and 
wishes  to  rest.  As  to  the  answer  he  shall  make,  when, 
at  last,  God  shall  summon  him  to  account  for  the  immor- 
tal soul  intrusted  to  him,  he  never  thinks  of  it.  Still  he 
is  not  entirely  devoid  of  all  sense  of  accountability.  He 
would  not  for  the  world  have  a  note  fall  due,  without 
looking  forward  to  the  time,  and  being  prepared  for  it. 
In  fact,  he  plans  very  wisely.  His  object  is  to  make  a 
fortune,  and  he  is  taking  a  most  judicious  and  successful 
course.  It  is  no  part  of  his  design  to  please  God,  or  to 
do  good  to  man; — to  save  his  own  soul,  or  to  prepare 
for  a  happy  meeting  with  his  children  in  heaven.  This 
is  not  his  business,  and  of  course  he  does  not  attend  to  it. 
As,  however,  he  advances  in  life,  he  begins  to  think 
sometimes  more  seriously.  His  minister  brings  to  his 
view  an  approaching  judgment,  and  explains  the  strict- 
ness of  God's  law,  so  that  his  conscience  begins  to 
trouble  him.  He  perceives  that  though  his  mode  of  life 
has  been  perfectly  reputable  among  men,  still  it  must 
be  considered  somewhat  irregular  when  compared  with 
God's  law.  His  children  begin  to  be  ungovernable  and 
dissipated  as  they  grow  up,  and  one  of  them  comes, 
under  very  melancholy  circumstances,  to  an  untimely 
end.  He  is  troubled.  In  short  he  resolves  to  reform. 
He  banishes  ail  business  from  the  Sabbath  except,  that 
when  the  sermon  does  not  particularly  interest  him,  he 
cannot  help  sometimes  thinking  a  little  of  his  voyages  or 
his  sales.  He  becomes  more  scrupulous  about  infring- 
ing upon  his  neighbor's  rights,  or  taking  an  unfair  ad- 
vantage of  their  necessities.  He  establishes  morning 
and  evening  prayers  in  his  family,  and  though  he  does 
not  always  think  of  the  Being  he  is  addressing,  he 
always  regularly  addresses  him,  in  words,  and  there  is 
generally  a  feeling  of  reverence  and  awe,  and  a  sort  of 
vague  impression  on  his  mind,  that  he  is  really  speaking 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN   CHRIST   JESTJS.  53 

His  great  business.  His  final  account.  Consequences. 

to  the  Supreme.  He  becomes  a  benevolent  man  too. 
That  is,  when  an  application  is  made  for  charity,  he 
gives  as  much  as  he  thinks  will  be  expected  of  him. 

In  a  word,  there  is  a  great  change  in  his  character. 
Tis  true  he  is  still  pursuing  the  same  great  objects,  but 
then  Christianity  has  come  in  to  regulate  the  mode  of 
his  pursuing  them.  And  he  goes  on  for  the  rest  of  his 
days,  making  his  fortune  on  much  better  principles,  and 
in  much  better  ways,  than  in  the  early  part  of  his  life. 
Still,  making  his  fortune  is  his  business.  The  ultimate 
object  for  which  he  lives  and  acts  is  to  get  money  into 
his  possession.  Every  thousand  dollars  he  obtains,  he 
invests  in  the  most  safe  and  profitable  mode  he  can  com- 
mand, and  looks  upon  it  as  so  much  done, — accomplished. 
And  when  at  last  he  comes  to  die,  and  on  his  death-bed 
looks  over  his  past  life,  all  the  satisfaction  he  can  have 
will  be,  in  reflecting,  that  though  making  his  fortune 
has  been  the  object  of  his  life,  he  has  nevertheless  made 
the  last  half  of  it,  in  the  most  unexceptionable  manner. 

Now  is  such  a  man  a  follower  of  Jesus  Christ.?  Is 
making  a  fortune  for  himself  his  Father's  business? 
No;  when  he  appears  before  God  in  judgment,  he  must 
expect  to  be  addressed  thus,  "  Did  you  not  know,  that 
you  were  stationed  on  earth  to  do  good;  to  turn  men  to 
God,  to  set  an  example  of  devoted  attachment  to  his 
cause;  to  relieve  suffering  and  promote  human  happi- 
ness, as  the  great  objects  of  your  life?  All  this  was 
distinctly  explained  to  you,  and  that  you  might  perfectly 
understand  it,  you  had  the  example  of  Jesus  Christ,  your 
Savior,  who  spent  a  life  on  earth  in  the  most  trying  cir- 
cumstances, for  the  very  purpose  of  showing  how  much 
is  meant  by  the  command,  that  men  should  serve  God 
while  they  live,  and  not  themselves.  You  were  distinctly 
and  emphatically  told,  that  you  were  not  your  own,  that 
you  had  been  bought  with  a  price,  and  were  bound  to 
live   and  act  as  a  steward,  an  agent,  a  servant.     But 

5* 


54  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  2. 

Samuel's  business.  How  a  child  may  imitate  the  Savior. 

you  have  not  done  so.  Instead  of  it,  you  have  taken 
possession,  in  your  own  name,  of  the  means  of  influence, 
and  of  usefulness,  which  were  put  into  your  hands  to 
be  used  for  God.  You  have  had  your  trial,  and  it  has 
resulted  in  your  deliberate  and  fuial  choice  to  act  for 
yourself,  and  not  fur  your  INIaker. 

Let  us  look  at  another  case.  Samuel  is  a  little  boy, 
eight  years  old.  He  has  really  become  a  Christian,  and 
wishes  to  do  his  duty,  and  his  whole  duty.  Do  you 
wish  to  know,  Samuel,  what  it  is  ?  If  you  look  into  the 
Bible,  to  your  Savior,  for  an  example,  you  will  see,  that 
the  first  principle  of  action  which  he  announced  was, 
that  he  was  doing  his  Father's  business.  But  you 
remember,  that  he  was  sent  from  heaven  to  do  a  great 
work  here,  which  you  cannot  do.  "  I  cannot  go,"  you 
say,  "  from  place  to  place,  preaching  the  gospel  and 
working  miracles,  and  giving  sight  to  the  blind,  and  heal- 
ing the  sick.     I  would  if  I  could." 

It  is  true  you  cannot  do  that.  That  is,  you  cannot  do 
your  Father's  business  in  the  same  way  precisely,  that 
Christ  did.  Or,  to  explain  it  more  fully,  God  has  a 
great  deal  of  business  to  be  done  in  this  world,  and  it 
is  of  various  kinds,  and  the  particular  portion  allotted  to 
each  person,  depends  upon  the  circumstances  in  which 
each  one  is  placed.  You  cannot  do  exactly  what  Christ 
did  while  he  was  here,  but  you  can  do  what  he  would 
have  done  had  he  been  in  your  place.  You  cannot 
make  a  blind  man  happy,  by  restoring  his  sight,  but  you 
can  make  your  little  sister  happy,  by  helping  her  up 
kindly  when  she  has  fallen  down;  and  that  last  is  your 
Father's  business,  as  much  as  the  other.  His  business 
here  is  to  make  every  one  happy,  and  to  relieve  every 
one's  suffering.  You  cannot  persuade  great  multitudes 
of  men  to  love  and  obey  God,  as  Christ  endeavored  to, 
but  you  may  lead  your  brothers  and  sisters  to  do  it,  by 
your  silent  influence  and  happy  example      So  you  can 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  55 

The  glory  of  God.  Acting  as  a  steward.  Worldliness. 

bear  sufferings  patiently,  and  take  injuries  meekly,  and 
thus  exhibit  the  character  which  God  wishes  to  have 
prevail  here.  The  light  you  thus  let  shine  may  be  a 
feeble  light,  and  it  may  illuminate  only  a  narrow  circle 
around  you;  but  if  it  is  the  light  of  genuine  piety,  it  will 
be  in  fact,  the  glory  of  God;  and  if  it  is  your  great 
object  to  let  this  light  shine,  you  are  about  your  Father's 
business,  as  truly  as  Jesus  was,  when  he  preached  to  the 
thronging  multitude,  or  brought  Lazarus  from  the  tomb. 
Yes;  if  a  little  child  is  making  it  his  great  aim  to  do 
good,  by  making  his  parents,  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
his  playmates  happy,  for  the  sake  of  co-operating  with 
God,  he  is  following  the  example  of  Christ. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  an  observer  to  tell  whether  an 
individual  is  acting  for  God  or  for  himself.  A  Christian 
merchant,  for  instance,  who  feels,  that  he  holds  a  stew- 
ardship, will  be  as  industrious,  as  enterprising  and  as 
persevering  in  his  plans  as  any  other  merchant.  Only 
he  acts  as  agent,  while  the  other  acts  as  principal.  So 
a  boy  may  be  amiable  and  gentle  and  kind  without  any 
regard  to  God,  or  any  desire  to  carry  on  his  plans.  But 
God  sees  very  clearly,  who  is  working  for  him,  and  who 
is  not;  and  there  is  not  one,  and  there  never  has  been 
one,  in  any  age,  who,  if  he  had  been  inclined  to  enter 
God's  service,  would  not  have  found  enough  to  do  for 
him,  had  he  been  disposed  to  do  it.  The  example  of 
Jesus  Christ  in  this  respect  is  an  example  for  all  mankind. 
It  is  intended  for  universal  imitation,  and  they  who  pass 
through  life  without  imitating  it,  must  find  themselves 
condemned  when  they  come  to  their  account. 

And  how  strange  it  is,  that  God  should  find  so  very 
{ew  willing  to  do  his  business  in  this  world.  Even  of 
those  few,  most,  instead  of  entering  into  it,  heart  and  soul, 
do  just  enough  to  satisfy  what  they  suppose  to  be  the 
expectations  of  their  Christian  brethren.  A  lady  will 
spend  her  hfe,  engrossed  with  such  objects  of  interest  as 


56  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  2. 

Love  of  furniture.  Dress.  The  work  of  God. 

new  furniture,  and  fashionable  dress,  and  the  means 
of  securing  the  admiration  of  others,  for  herself  or  her 
children.  She  thinks,  for  days  and  weeks,  of  procuring 
some  new  article  of  furniture,  not  for  comfort  or  conve- 
nience, but  for  show,  and  when  it  comes  she  is  pleas- 
ed and  delighted,  as  if  one  of  the  great  objects  of  her 
existence  had  been  accomplished.  She  spends  hours  up- 
on the  color  or  texture  of  a  ribbon,  which  as  soon  as 
it  is  chosen,  will  begin  to  fade,  and  will  soon  fall  into 
contempt  and  be  rejected;  or  she  pursues,  month  after 
month,  and  year  after  year,  what  she  calls  the  pleasures 
of  society,  which  pleasures  are  often  a  compound  of 
pride,  vanity,  envy,  jealousy  and  ill-will.  Her  husband 
all  the  time  devotes  himself  to  pursuits  equally  unworthy 
an  immortal  mind.  They  do  some  good  accidentally, 
and  call  themselves  Christians,  but  they  seem  to  have 
no  idea,  that  God  has  any  work  for  them  to  do. 

Has  he  work  for  them  to  do  .''  Yes  ;  there  is  a 
world  to  be  restored  to  holiness  and  happiness,  and  he 
asks  their  help  in  doing  it.  He  has  put  their  children 
almost  completely  in  their  power,  so  that  their  eternal 
happiness  might  be  almost  certainly  secured,  and  has 
given  them  connexions  with  society,  of  which  they  might 
avail  themselves  in  working  most  efficiently  for  him.  If 
tliey  would  take  hold  of  this  enterprise,  they  would  have 
some  elevated  and  ennobling  object  before  them.  They 
would  see,  one  after  another,  those  connected  with  them, 
returning  to  God.  They  would  see  their  children  grow- 
ing up  in  piety.  Every  night,  they  would  feel  that  they 
had  been  living  for  God,  and  whatever  might  be  their 
difficulties,  they  would  be  relieved  from  all  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility and  care.  Instead  of  feeling  gloomy  and 
sad,  as  their  children  scattered  from  them,  or  were 
one  by  one  removed  by  death,  and  as  they  themselves 
were  gradually  drawing  towards  the  close  of  life,  they 
would  find  their  interest  in  their  great  business  growing 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  57 

Low  pursuits.  The  arts  and  refinements  of  life. 

stronger  and  stronger,  as  they  approached  the  great 
change,  which  would  bring  them  more  directly  into  con- 
nexion with  their  Father.  The  offer,  on  the  part  of  our 
Maker,  to  take  us  into  his  service,  in  this  world,  is  the 
only  plan,  which  can  give  human  life  any  real  dignity, 
or  substantial  value.  Without  it  all  human  employments 
are  insignificant,  all  pleasure  is  insipid,  and  life  is  a  ster- 
ile waste,  void  of  verdure  or  bloom.  Without  this,  there 
IS  an  entire  disproportion  between  the  lofty  powers  and 
capacities  of  human  nature,  and  the  low  pursuits  and 
worthless  objects,  which  are  before  it  in  its  present 
home.  An  immortal  spirit,  capable  of  thoughts,  which 
explore  the  universe,  and  of  feelings  and  desires  reach- 
ing forward  to  eternity,  spending  life  in  seeing  how  many 
pieces  of  stamped  metal  it  can  get  together!  a  mind 
made  in  the  image  of  God,  and  destined  to  live  as  long 
as  he,  buried  for  years  in  thoughts  about  the  size  and 
beauty  of  a  dwelling,  which  is  all  the  time  going  to 
decay,  or  about  the  color  and  fashion  of  dress,  or  the 
hues  and  carvings  of  rose-wood  or  mahogany! 

But  let  no  one  understand  me  to  condemn  the  enjoy- 
ments which  come  to  us  through  the  arts  and  refinements 
of  life.  It  is  making  these  things  the  great  object  of 
existence, —  it  is  the  eager  pursuit  of  them,  as  the  chief 
business  of  life,  which  the  example  of  our  Savior  and 
the  principles  of  the  gospel  condemn.  These  arts  and 
refinements  are  intended  to  add  to  human  happiness. 
They  will  make  the  most  rapid  progress  in  those  coun- 
tries where  Christianity  most  perfectly  prevails.  Jesus 
Christ  had  a  taste  for  beauty,  both  of  nature  and  art;  he 
admired  the  magnificent  architecture  of  the  Temple,  and 
deeply  lamented  the  necessity  of  its  overthrow,  and  his 
dress  was  at  least  of  such  a  character,  that  the  disposal 
of  it  was  a  subject  of  importance  to  the  well-paid  sol- 
diers, who  crucified  him.  Yes,  the  universal  reign  of 
Christianity  will  be  the  reign  of  taste  and  refinement  and 


58  THE    COUNER-STONE.  [Ch.  2 

The  enjoyinentd  of  life.  The  Savior's  character.  Energy. 

the  arts;  but  while  the  enjoyments  of  men  will  be  in- 
creased in  a  tenfold  degree  from  these  and  other  sources, 
their  hearts  will  be  set  far  less  on  them,  than  they  are 
now.  They  will  be  recreations  by  the  way,  to  cheer  and 
refresh  those  whose  hearts  are  mainly  bent  on  accom- 
plishing tiie  objects  of  tlieir  Father  in  Heaven. 

I  have  dwelt  longer,  perhaps,  on  this  subject  than  I 
ought  to  have  done.  Tiiis  book,  though  its  subject  is 
Christian  truth,  is  intended  to  throw  as  strong  a  light  as 
possible  on  Christian  duty,  and  in  considering  this  the 
first  great  trait  of  our  Savior's  character  which  presents 
itself  to  view,  I  could  not  avoid  asking  my  reader  to 
pause  a  moment  to  consider  what  he  himself  is  really 
living  for. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  example  of  our  Savior. 

Jesus  Christ  was  in  some  respects  the  most  bold,  ener- 
getic, decided  and  courageous  man  that  ever  lived;  but  in 
others  he  was  the  most  flexible,  submissive  and  yielding; 
and  in  the  conceptions  which  many  persons  form  of  his 
character,  there  is  a  degree  of  indistinctness  and  con- 
fusion, from  want  of  clear  ideas  of  the  mode  in  which 
these  seemingly  opposite  qualities  come  together.  The 
explanation  is  this.  The  question,  which  of  these  two 
classes  of  qualities  he  would  exhibit,  depended  entirely 
upon  the  question,  whether  it  was  his  own  personal  wel- 
fare or  his  Father's  business,  which  was  at  stake.  If  it 
was  the  latter,  he  feared  no  danger,  he  shrunk  from  no 
opposition,  and  no  obstacle  or  difficulty  would  turn  him 
from  his  course.  If  it  was  the  former,  his  own  personal 
welfare,  he  was  exactly  the  reverse,  —  mild,  gentle, 
yielding,  to  such  a  degree,  that,  at  first  view,  it  would 
seem  impossible,  that  it  could  be  the  same  man.  There 
never  was  a  mission  or  an  enterprise  of  any  kind,  con- 
ducted with  a  more  bold,  energetic,  fearless  spirit,  than 
the  §avior'3  mission*  and  on  the  other  band,  ther^  never 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  59 

Mildness  and  forbearance.  His  story  of  the  Samaritan. 

was  a  case  where  personal  sacrifices  and  injuries  were 
borne  with  so  much  indifference  and  unconcern.  Ob- 
serve how  he  reproved  the  insincere  and  dishonest  pre- 
tenders to  rehgion,  which  filled  Judea  in  those  days. 
He  followed  them  into  crowds,  he  met  them  face  to 
face,  and  in  the  most  direct  and  personal  manner,  spread 
out  their  insincerity  and  hypocrisy  before  them.  Yes, 
in  the  midst  of  Jerusalem,  the  very  heart  and  centre 
of  their  influence,  he  brought  forward  his  accusations 
against  them,  with  a  power  and  severity  which  human 
eloquence  has  very  seldom  equalled.  This  was  in  the 
cause  of  his  Father.  But  when  it  came  to  his  own,  how 
changed.  Peter's  most  unmanly  and  ungrateful  denial, 
was  reproved  by  a  look!  And  Judas,  coming  at  midnight 
with  armed  men,  to  seize  him  by  the  basest  treachery, 
was  called  to  a  sense  of  his  guilt,  by  the  mildest,  the 
very  gentlest  reproof  which  language  could  frame.  So 
when  the  profanation  of  his  Father's  temple  was  to  be 
stopped,  he  could  use  a  scourge,  and  effect  a  forcible 
ejectment  with  almost  military  authority,  and  yet  when, 
as  was  shown  afterwards  in  the  judgment  hall,  there 
was  nothing  to  excite  him  but  his  own  personal  injuries, 
he  was  meek  and  gentle  as  a  lamb.  He  was  equally 
ready  to  use  the  scourge,  in  the  cause  of  God,  and  to 
submit  to  it  in  his  own. 

And  this  principle  is  the  key  to  his  whole  conduct. 
Many  anecdotes  might  be  given  to  illustrate  it.  One 
day,  for  example,  when  speaking  in  the  midst  of  Priests 
and  Levites,  in  the  very  seat  of  their  power,  he  told  the 
story  of  the  good  Samaritan.  Nothing  could  be  more 
keenly  cutting  or  more  bold  than  this.  They  hated  the 
Samaritans,  because  they  would  not  come  to  Jerusalem 
to  worship,  and  were  proud  of  their  own  piety,  because 
their  worship  was  offered  in  the  right  place!  Jesus  did 
not  enter  into  any  labored  argument  with  them,  to  show 
that  piety  was  a  business  of  the  heart,  and  not  of  geo- 


60  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  % 


His  rejection  at  Samaria.  Plans.  Bold  and  wystematic  actioft. 

graphical  location ;  he  simply  told  them  the  story, — cutting 
as  it  (lid,  exactly  across  their  bitterest  prejudices;  they 
would  not  even  have  any  dealings  with  the  Samaritans. 

Some  time  afterwards,  he  came  in  contact  with  the 
same  feeling  again,  though  in  a  diflerent  way.  He  was 
travelling  with  his  disciples,  and  on  arriving  at  Samaria, 
they  would  not  receive  him,  because  he  ivas  ^oing  to 
Jeniaalcm.  Here  the  prejudice  between  the  rival  sects 
only  injured  him,  personally.  And  he  thought  and  cared 
nothing  about  it.  His  disciples  were  angry,  but  he 
quieted  them  at  once,  and  went  on.  Thus  it  was  always 
with  him.  Yielding,  submissive,  patient  in  regard  to  his 
own  personal  injuries  and  sufferings,  but  firm,  inflex- 
ible and  courageous  in  the  extreme,  in  resisting  every 
injury  to  the  cause  committed  to  his  care. 

There  is  something  very  bold  and  energetic  in  the 
measures  he  adopted  in  accomplishing  his  work.  The 
great  business  which  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  effect 
before  his  crucifixion,  was,  to  publish  effectually  through- 
out Judea,  his  coming,  and  the  principles  of  his  gospel, 
— and  to  exhibit,  as  publicly  as  possible,  the  miraculous 
evidences  of  his  mission.  He  did  it  in  the  most  effectual 
manner,  in  about  three  years.  In  fact,  there  perhaps 
never  was  so  great  a  moral  effect  produced  in  three  years, 
on  any  so  extensive  a  community,  if  we  consider  at  all 
the  disadvantages  incident  to  the  customs  of  those  days. 
There  was  no  press,  no  modes  of  extensive  written  com- 
munication, no  regularly  organized  channels  of  inter- 
Course  whatever,  between  the  different  portions  of  the 
Community.  He  acted  under  every  disadvantage  and 
availed  himself  of  no  miraculous  modes  of  disseminating 
his  principles;  but  yet,  so  skilfully  did  he  plan,  and  with 
such  promptness  and  energy  did  he  execute,  that  in  a 
very  short  period  the  work  was  done. 

What  were  these  plans?  In  the  first  place  he  went 
himself,  directly  and  boldly,  into  every  centre  of  influence 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  61 

His  personal  boldness.  Nights  of  prayer.  Style  of  speaking. 

and  population  he  could  find.  When  Jerusalem  was 
crowded  with  the  multitudes,  which  came  together  at 
the  Passover,  he  was  always  there,  in  the  most  public 
and  conspicuous  places,  exposing,  in  the  most  explicit 
and  direct  manner,  the  sins  of  the  times,  and  exhibiting 
the  principles  of  true  rehgion,  with  a  distinctness  and 
vividness  and  beauty,  which  have  never  been  equalled. 
At  other  times,  he  was  travelling  from  place  to  place, 
through  fertile  and  populous  provinces,  visiting  the  larger 
villages  and  towns,  and  gathering  great  multitudes  around 
him  in  the  open  country.  And  yet  though  he  was,  in 
his  business,  thus  bold  and  enterprising,  he  was  in 
feeling,  as  we  shall  see  more  distinctly  in  the  sequel, 
of  a  quiet  and  retiring  spirit.  He  always  withdrew  at 
once  from  the  crowd  when  his  work  was  done.  He 
sought  solitude,  he  shrunk  from  observation;  in  fact  al- 
most the  only  enjoyment  which  he  seemed  really  to  love, 
was  his  lonely  ramble  at  midnight,  for  rest  and  prayer. 
He  spent  whole  nights  thus,  we  are  told.  And  it  is  not 
surprising,  that  after  the  heated  crowds  and  exhausting 
labors  of  the  day,  he  should  love  to  retire  to  silence  and 
seclusion,  to  enjoy  the  cool  and  balmy  air,  the  refreshing 
stillness,  and  all  the  beauties  and  glories  of  midnight, 
among  the  solitudes  of  the  Gallilean  hills; — to  find 
there  happy  communion  with  his  Father,  and  to  gather 
fresh  strength  for  the  labors  and  trials,  that  yet  re- 
mained. 

Another  thing,  which  exhibits  the  boldness  and  enter- 
prise, that  characterized  his  plans  for  making  an  im- 
pression on  the  community,  was  the  peculiarly  new  and 
original  style  of  public  speaking  he  adopted.  It  was 
sententious,  brief,  antithetic.  Every  sentence  was  load- 
ed with  meaning,  and  so  concisely  and  energetically  ex- 
pressed, that  the  sentiment  could  neither  be  misunder- 
stood nor  forgotten,  "  If  worldly  pleasure  allures  you 
away  from   duty,"  a  more  timid  and  cautious  speaker 

6 


62  Tin:  corner-stone.  [Ch.  2, 

Sermon  on  the  Mount.  The  assembly. 

would  have  said,  "  you  must  reliiKjuisli  it,  'J'liiiik  how 
much  more  important  your  salvation  is  than  any  tempo- 
ral gratification. ■'  If  your  right  hand  ollbnd  you,  says 
Christ,  CUT  IT  OFF.  If  your  right  eye  olfend  you,  pluck 
IT  OUT.  You  had  better  enter  into  life  with  one  eye, 
than  to  be  cast  into  hell-fire  with  two. 

The  delivery  of  the  sermon  on  the  mount  is,  probably, 
the  most  striking  example  of  moral  courage,  wiiich  the 
world  has  ever  seen.  There  are  two  circumstances, 
which  render  the  occasion  on  which  it  was  delivered, 
extraordinary.  First,  it  was  a  very  public  occasion.  A 
vast  multitude  from  almost  every  part  of  the  country  were 
assembled.  Judea,  the  southern  province,  and  Gallilee, 
the  northern,  were  represented;  so  were  the  eastern  and 
western  shores  of  the  river  Jordan,  and  many  distant 
cities  and  towns.  From  all  this  wide  extent  of  country, 
a  vast  multitude,  attracted  by  the  fame  of  the  Savior's 
miracles,  had  assembled  to  hear  what  this  professed 
messenger  from  heaven  had  to  say.  Again,  it  was  prob- 
ably, though  not  certainly,  a  very  early  occasion.  Per- 
haps the  first  on  which  the  great  principles  of  the  gospel 
were  to  be  announced  to  men.  By  this  discourse,  con- 
taining, as  it  does,  so  plain  and  specific  an  exposition  of 
the  false  notions  of  religion  then  prevailing,  the  Savior 
must  have  known,  that  he  was  laying  the  foundation  of 
that  enmity,  which  was  to  result  in  his  destruction.  But 
did  he  shrink?  Did  he  hold  back?  Did  he  conceal  or 
cover  over  one  single  obnoxious  feature  of  the  truth? 
He  knew  that  the  report  of  that  meeting  must  be  spread 
to  every  part  of  the  country.  As  he  looked  around  upon 
his  auditory,  he  must  have  seen,  here,  one  from  a  Galli- 
lean  village,  there,  another  from  beyond  the  Jordan,  and 
again  a  third,  who  would  carry  his  report  to  distant  Je- 
rusalem; and  yet  thus  completely  exposed,  instead  of 
attempting  to  soften  or  conceal,  he  brought  out  all  the 
distinctive  features  of  prevailing  error,  and  contrasted 


Ch.  2.] 

THE    MAN-    CHRIST    JESUS.                                   63 

His  missionaries. 

Results.                         Key  to  his  character. 

them  with  the  pure  principles  of  his  spiritual  religion, 
with  a  plainness  and  a  point,  which  was  exactly  calculat- 
ed to  fix  them  in  memory,  and  to  circulate  them  most 
widely  throughout  the  land. 

It  was  always  so.  The  plainness,  the  point,  the  un- 
daunted boldness,  with  which  he  exposed  hypocrisy  and 
sin,  and  the  clear  simplicity  with  which  he  held  up  to 
view  the  principles  of  real  piety,  have  no  parallel.  And 
yet  he  knew  perfectly  well,  that  in  direct  consequence 
of  these  things,  a  dark  storm  was  gathering,  which  must 
burst  in  all  its  fury  upon  his  unsheltered  head. 

But  the  enterprising  and  determined  spirit,  with  which  . 
Christ  entered  into  his  work,  was  not  satisfied  with  his 
own  personal  exertions.  He  formed  the  extraordinary 
plan  of  sending  out  simultaneously,  a  number  of  his  most 
cordial  friends  and  followers,  to  assist  in  making  the  most 
extensive  and  powerful  impression  possible,  upon  the 
community.  At  first  he  sent  twelve,  then  seventy,  who 
went  every  where,  presenting  to  men  the  simple  duties  of 
repentance  for  the  past,  and  of  pure  and  holy  lives  for 
the  future.  There  could  not  have  been  measures  more 
admirably  adapted  to  accomplish  the  work  he  had  to  do. 
And  they  succeeded.  In  two  or  three  years  it  was  done. 
And  every  Christian,  who  has  work  to  do  for  his  Master 
here,  should  learn  a  lesson  from  the  enterprise  and  sys- 
tem and  energy,  which  Jesus  Christ  exhibited  in  doing 
his. 

This  then  is  the  key  to  the  character  of  Jesus  Christ 
in  respect  to  spirit  and  decision.  These  qualities  shine 
mit  with  unequalled  lustre,  whenever  there  was  any  duty 
to  be  done;  but  the  most  mild  and  patient  and  humble 
submission  take  their  place,  when  there  is  personal  injury 
or  suffering  to  be  endured.  In  the  streets  of  Jerusalem, 
end  on  a  question,  which  concerns  the  character  of  God 
or  the  duty  of  man,  we  find  him  with  all  his  faculties 
aroused,  silencing  every  opponent  by  his  unanswerable 


64  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  2. 

Courage.  The  nifjlit  in  the  garden.  Suffering. 

arguments,  or  his  ai)i)c;ils  of  irresistible  eloquence  and 
power.  But  when  these  subjects  fail,  all  the  energy  of 
attack  or  defence  on  his  part  gives  way  with  them,  and 
before  his  personal  enemies,  planning  personal  injury  to 
him,  he  stands  silent,  patient  and  submissive,  leaving 
the  whole  torrent  of  injury  to  take  its  course,  meeting  it 
with  no  resistance  and  returning  no  reply. 

It  seems  to  me,  that  the  history  of  the  world  cannot 
exhibit  an  act  of  higher,  nobler  courage,  than  our  Savior 
performed,  in  coming  down  to  meet  Judas  and  the  armed 
band,  the  night  before  he  was  crucified.  Just  imagine 
the  scene.  On  the  eastern  side  of  Jerusalem,  without 
the  walls,  there  is  a  sudden  descent  'to  a  stream,  which 
flows  through  the  valley.  Across  this  stream,  on  the 
rising  ground  beyond,  was  a  quiet  and  solitary  place, 
where  Jesus  very  often  went  for  retirement  and  prayer. 
He  understood  very  well  his  approaching  torture  and 
crucifixion;  he  had  taken,  the  evening  before,  his  last  sad 
farewell  of  his  disciples,  and  with  the  day  of  agony  and 
death  before  him  on  the  morrow,  he  could  not  sleep.  It 
was  a  cold  night,  but  a  sheltered  dwelling  in  the  city 
was  no  place  for  him.  He  asked  his  three  dearest 
friends  to  go  with  him,  that  he  might  once  more  cross 
the  valley,  and  for  the  last  time,  take  his  midnight  walk 
upon  the  Mount  of  Olives.  Oppressed  with  anxiety  and 
sorrow,  he  fell  down  alone  before  God  and  prayed,  that 
he  might  be  spared  what  was  to  come.  He  had  gone 
on  firmly  thus  far,  but  now  his  heart  almost  failed  him. 
Six  long  hours  of  indescribable  agony  seemed  too  much, 
for  the  frail  human  powers,  which  must  necessarily  bear 
the  whole.  He  prayed  God  to  spare  him  if  it  could  be 
possible. 

But  it  could  not.  His  strength  failed  under  the  ex- 
haustion produced  by  his  mental  sufferings,  and  by  the 
more  than  death-like  perspiration,  which  the  night  air,  so 
cold  at  this  season  that  even  the  hardy  soldiers  needed 


Ch.    2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST    JESUS.  66 

Lights  and  weapons  and  armed  men.  Real  courage. 

fire,  could  not  chill.  Mysterious  help  from  heaven  re- 
stored him  a  little,  but  though  refreshed  by  heavenly 
sympathy,  we  must  remember  that  it  was  human  pow- 
ers, that  had  this  trial  to  bear. 

At  last  there  is  heard  through  the  trees,  at  a  distance 
down  the  valley,  the  sound  of  approaching  voices.  Lights 
are  seen  too; — and  now  and  then  a  glittering  weapon. 
They  are  coming  for  him.  Fly!  innocent  sufferer,  fly! 
Turn  to  the  dark  solitudes  behind  you,  and  fly  for  your 
life! — No.  The  struggle  is  over.  The  Savior,  collect- 
ed and  composed,  rises  and  walks  on  to  meet  the  very 
swords  and  spears  sent  out  against  him!  We  must  re- 
member, that  there  was  nobody  to  encourage  him,  nobody 
to  defend  him,  or  to  share  his  fate.  It  was  in  the  darkness 
and  stillness  of  night,  the  very  hour  of  fear  and  dread; 
and  the  approach  of  those  whose  dim  forms  and  suppress- 
ed voices  arrested  his  attention,  was  the  signal  not  of 
danger,  but  of  death, —  nor  of  death  merely,  but  of  pro- 
tracted and  unutterable  torture.  Still  he  arose  and  went 
forth  to  meet  them.  "  Whom  seek  ye?"  said  he, —  '•  I 
am  he."  We  have  read  this  story  so  often,  that  it  has 
lost  its  impression  upon  us;  but  could  we  come  to  it 
afresh,  and  really  appreciate  the  gloomy,  dreadful  cir- 
cumstances of  the  scene,  we  should  feel,  that  the  desert- 
ed Savior,  in  coming  down  under  these  circumstances, 
to  meet  the  torches  and  the  weapons,  which  were  to  light 
and  guard  him  back  to  such  enemies  and  to  such  a  death, 
exhibits  the  loftiest  example  of  fortitude,  which  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  There  was  less  noise,  less  parade,  less 
display  than  at  Thermopylae  or  Trafalgar;  but  for  the 
real  sublimity  of  courage,  the  spectacle  of  this  solitary 
and  defenceless  sufferer,  coming  at  midnight  to  meet  the 
betrayer  and  his  band,  beams  with  a  moral  splendor 
which  never  shone  on  earth  before,  and  will  probably 
never  shine  again. 

6* 


66  THE   CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  2 

Three  great  traits.  Love  of  nature.  Kirk  White, 

We  have  thus  far  considered  the  great  leading  prin- 
ciples of  our  Savior's  public  conduct.  As  we  have  pre- 
sented them  they  are  three. 

1.  Entire  devotcdncss  to  his  Father's  work. 

2.  Energy,  system,  and  undaunted  courage,  in  prose- 
cuting if. 

3.  The  mildest,  most  unresisting  and  forgiving  spirit, 
in  regard  to  liis  own  personal  wrongs. 

We  might  close  our  view  of  his  character  with  these 
leading  principles  of  it,  but  there  are  some  other  traits 
of  a  more  private  nature,  which  it  is  pleasant  to  notice 
We  shall  mention  them  as  they  occur 

1.  He  evidently  observed  and  enjoyed  nature.  There 
are  many  allusions  to  his  solitary  walks  in  the  fields  and 
on  the  mountains,  and  by  the  sea-side;  but  the  greatest 
evidence  of  his  love  for  nature,  is  to  be  seen  in  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  speaks  of  its  beauties.  A  man's  meta- 
phors are  drawn  from  the  sources  with  which  he  is  most 
familiar,  or  which  interest  him  most;  so  that  we  can 
judge  very  correctly  what  the  habitual  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  a  writer  are,  by  observing  what  images  arise  to 
his  mind,  when  he  is  interested  in  writing  or  conversa- 
tion. We  take  down  a  volume  of  poetry,  for  an  illustra- 
tion of  this  remark,  and  open,  almost  at  random,  to  the 
following  lines  by  Henry  Kirk  White. 

"  God  keep  Ihee.  Traveller,  on  thy  journey  far; 

The  wind  is  bitter  keen — the  snow  o'erlays 
The  hidden  pits  and  dangerous  hollow  ways, 
And  darkness  will  involve  thee.     No  kind  star 
To-night  will  guide  thee,  Traveller, — and  the  war 

Of  winds  and  elements  on  thy  head  will  break, 

And  in  thy  agonizing  ear,  the  shriek 
Of  spirits  on  their  stormy  car, 
Will  often  ring  appalling — I  portend 

A  dismal  niglit, — and  on  my  wakeful  bed, 

Thoughts,  Traveller,  of  thee,  will  fill  my  head, 
And  him,  who  rides  where  winds  and  waves  contend 
And  strives,  rude  cradled  on  the  seas,  to  guide 
His  lonely  bark  on  the  tempestuous  tide  " 


Ch. 

2.] 

THE 

MAN 

CHRIST 

JESUS 

• 

67 

The  Savior' 

s  metapli 

lors. 

The  lily. 

Insensibility  of 

men. 

Now  such  a  passage  as  this  admits  us  very  far  into 
the  author's  habits  of  thought  and  feeling.  No  man 
could  have  written  it  unless  he  had  often  felt  the  subhmi- 
ty  of  the  midnight  storm,  and  sympathised  strongly  with 
the  anxieties  and  dangers  of  the  lonely  traveller.  He 
must  have  been  out  in  such  a  scene  and  realized  the 
emotions  it  excites,  or  he  could  not  have  painted  them 
so  vividly. 

We  learn  in  the  same  manner  how  distinct  were  the 
impressions  of  beauty  or  sublimity,  which  the  works  of 
nature  made  upon  the  Savior,  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
alluded  to  them.  Take  for  instance,  the  case  where  he 
speaks  of  the  decoration  of  the  hlies.  What  a  concep- 
tion! We  are  so  familiar  with  it,  that  it  loses  its  impres- 
sion upon  us,  but  if  we  could  approach  it  anew  we  should 
be  astonished  at  its  boldness  and  beauty.  He  is  endeav- 
oring to  persuade  his  disciples  not  to  be  anxious  about 
their  food  or  clothing,  for  if  they  will  do  God's  will,  he 
will  take  care  of  them.  "  Look  at  the  lilies  of  the  field," 
says  he,  "they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin,  and  yet  I 
say  unto  you,  that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these."  A  cold,  heartless  man,  with- 
out taste  or  sensibility,  would  not  have  said  such  a  thing 
as  that.  He  could  not;  and  we  may  be  as  sure,  that  Je- 
sus Christ  had  stopped  to  examine  and  admire  the  grace 
and  beauty  of  the  plant,  and  the  exquisitely  penciled  tints 
of  its  petal,  as  if  we  had  actually  seen  him  bending  over 
it,  or  pointing  it  out  to  the  attention  of  his  disciples. 

The  mass  of  mankind  never  notice  the  beauties  and 
wonders,  that  are  always  around  them.  Among  hundreds 
walking  in  a  garden,  it  is  only  a  very  few,  who  would 
perceive  the  objects  of  astonishment  and  delight  which 
abound  there.  Here  are  several  shrubs  side  by  side. 
They  grow  from  the  same  earth,  are  warmed  by  the 
same  sun,  and  refreshed  by  the  same  showers;  and  yet 
the  very  same  juices  coming  up  one  stem,  arrange  them- 


68 

THE    CORNER-STONE.                             [Ch.  2 

The  garden. 

lis  woiiciors.              The  Savior's  tuBtc  and  senfibility. 

selves  into  a  cun-ajit  at  the  top,  —  coming  up  another  they 
form  themselves  into  ajJcar,  and  in  tlie  third  case,  into  a 
rose.  The  real  lover  of  nature  pauses  to  reflect,  as  he 
sees  these  various  fruits  and  flowers,  how  strange  it  is, 
that  a  mcclianism  so  exquisite  can  be  arranged  in  those 
stems,  so  as  to  bring  such  astonishing  and  sucli  diflercnt 
results  from  one  common  store-house  of  materials.  The 
multitude  do  not  think  of  it  at  all.  They  consider  it  as 
a  matter  of  course,  that  figs  should  grow  upon  the  fig- 
tree,  and  grapes  upon  the  vine,  and  that  is  all  they  think 
about  it. 

Here  is  a  little  seed  too.  It  seems  to  the  eye,  lifeless 
and  inorganic;  indistinguishable  from  a  useless  grain  of 
sand.  But  what  a  complicated  system  is  safely  packed 
away  in  its  little  covering.  Put  it  into  the  ground,  and 
in  a  few  months  return  to  the  spot,  and  you  find  a  little 
tree,  covered  with  leaves  and  flowers,  and  giving  to  many 
birds  and  insects  a  shelter  and  a  home. 

Now  Jesus  Christ  noticed  these  things.  He  perceiv- 
ed their  beauty  and  enjoyed  it.  His  heart  was  full  of 
images,  which  such  observations  must  have  furnished. 
He  could  not  otherwise  have  so  beautifully  compared  the 
progress  of  his  kingdom  to  the  growth  of  such  a  tree.  He 
could  not  have  related  the  parable  of  the  sower,  if  he  had 
not  noticed  with  interest  the  minutest  circumstances  con- 
nected with  the  culture  of  the  ground.  His  beautiful 
allusions  to  the  vine  and  to  the  fig-tree,  the  wheat  and 
the  tares,  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  flocks  of  the  field, 
all  prove  the  same  thing.  It  is  not  merely  that  he  spoke 
of  those  things,  but  that  he  alluded  to  them  in  a  way  so 
beautiful,  and  touching,  and  original,  as  to  prove,  that  he 
had  an  observing  eye  and  a  warm  heart  for  the  beauties 
and  glories  of  creation. 

2.  There  is  the  same  kind  of  evidence  that  he  noticed, 
with  the  same  observing  eye  and  intelligent  interest,  the 
principles  and  characteristics  of  human  nature.     Take 


Ch.  2.]  THE    MAN    CHRIST   JESUS.  69 

His  mode  of  addressing  men.  Moval  sympathy.  Reasoning. 

for  example,  his  story  of  the  father's  welcoming  his  re- 
turning prodigal, — the  woman  seeking  the  lost  money, — 
the  steward  making  friends  with  his  master's  debtors, 
and  the  pardoned  sinner  loving  much  because  much  had 
been  forgiven.  He  observed  every  thing;  and  his  im- 
agination was  stored  with  an  inexhaustible  supply  of 
images,  drawn  from  every  source,  and  with  these  he 
illustrated  and  enforced  his  principles  in  a  manner  alto- 
gether unparalleled  by  any  writings  sacred  or  profane. 

3.  In  exerting  an  influence  over  man,  he  endeavored 
to  awaken  the  moral  sympathies,  rather  than  produce  cold 
conviction  through  the  intellect.  In  regard  to  almost  all 
important  moral  and  religious  truth,  there  is  a  witness 
within  every  man's  heart,  and  it  was  the  aim  of  our 
Savior  to  awaken  this  witness  and  to  encourage  him  to 
speak.  Other  men  attempt  to  do  every  thing  by  reason- 
ing,— cold,  naked  reasoning;  which,  after  all,  it  may 
be  almost  said,  is  the  most  absolutely  inefficient  means 
which  can  be  applied,  for  the  production  of  any  moral 
effects  upon  men. 

Christ  very  seldom  attempted  to  prove  what  he  said. 
He  expressed  and  illustrated  truth,  and  then  left  it  to 
work  its  own  way.  Sometimes  he  argued,  but  then  it 
was  almost  always  in  self-defence.  When  at  liberty  to 
choose  his  own  mode,  as  for  example  in  the  sermon  on 
the  mount,  he  said  such  things  as  commended  them- 
selves to  every  man's  conscience,  and  their  power  con- 
sisted in  the  clearness  and  emphasis  with  which  he  said 
them.  If  he  reasoned  at  all,  the  distance  was  very  short 
between  his  premises  and  his  conclusion,  and  his  steps 
very  simple  and  few. 

4.  Jesus  loved  his  friends.  The  duty  of  universal 
benevolence,  which  he  so  strongly  enforced,  he  never 
meant  should  supersede  the  claims  of  private,  personal 
friendship,  or  interfere  with  its  enjoyments.  He  himself, 
while  he  was  ready  to  die  for  thousands,  preferred  tc 


70  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  2. 

He  loved  his  friends.  He  loved  his  mother.  Proot 

take  his  walks,  and  share  his  griefs,  with  Peter,  James 

and  John.  There  is  nothiiijr  more  touchintr,  in  regard 
to  tins  snhjoct,  thnn  his  private  intimation  at  the  last  sup- 
per, to  his  dearest  personal  friend,  of  the  fact,  that  it 
was  Judas,  who  was  to  betray  him.  He  understood  and 
felt  the  happiness  of  communion  and  confidence  between 
kindred  spirits,  and,  by  his  example,  has  authorized  us  to 
link  ourselves  to  one  another,  by  the  ties  of  friendship 
and  affection,  as  strongly  as  we  please.  Christianity,  in 
expanding  the  affections  of  the  individual,  till  they  reach 
every  brother  and  sister  on  the  globe,  does  not  weaken 
or  endanger  a  single  private  or  domestic  tie.  While  it 
draws  the  whole  human  family  together,  it  links,  by  a 
still  closer  union  than  before,  the  husband  with  the  wife, 
and  the  parent  with  the  child,  —  sister  to  sister,  and 
friend  to  friend.  It  is  indeed  "the  bond  of  perfectness," 
or  as  we  should,  at  this  day,  express  it,  a  perfect  bond. 
5.  The  last  thing  I  have  to  say  about  the  character 
of  Jesus  Christ  is,  he  loved  his  mother.  Perhaps  I  have 
Bome  young  readers,  who  can  remember  that  at  some 
recent  period,  when  they  have  been  sick  or  suffering 
from  any  cause,  they  have,  by  their  fretfulness  or  discon- 
tent, brought  trouble  and  care  to  their  parents,  and  have 
considered  themselves  excused  for  it,  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  have  been  placed.  To  them  I 
have  one  thing  to  say.  Your  Savior  was  nailed  to  the 
cross.  The  whole  weight  of  his  body  was  suspended 
from  his  lacerated  limbs,  and  here  he  had  to  hang  hour 
after  hour,  till  life  actually  sunk  under  the  power  of 
Buffering.  But  even  here  he  did  not  forget  his  mother. 
He  gave,  in  the  most  touching  manner  possible,  his  dear- 
est friend  a  charge  to  be  kind  to  her,  to  protect  her,  to 
take  care  of  her  as  long  as  she  should  live.  He  did  this, 
however,  almost  by  a  word,  for  under  such  circumstan^ 
ces  it  was  torture  to  speak.  "  Behold  thy  mother." 
That  was  all;    but  it  was  enough.      Now  let  me  ask 


Ch.  3.] 

HUMAN    DUTY                                                   71 

Filial  affection. 

A  difference  between  the  gospels  and  the  epistles. 

each  one  of  my  readers,  whether  old  or  young,  who  has 
a  mother  still  in  life,  as  you  shut  this  book  at  the  close 
of  this  chapter,  to  go  and  devise  some  act  of  kindness 
and  affection  for  her,  in  imitation  of  the  dying  example 
which  the  Savior  set  us.  Do  something  to  cheer  and 
comfort  her;  even  if  it  is  no  very  substantial  act  of  kind- 
ness, it  will  bring  gladness  to  her  heart,  as  a  memorial 
of  your  remembrance  and  affection.  Mary  must  have 
felt  this  proof  of  love  most  deeply.  They  told  the 
Savior,  long  before,  that  his  mother  was  to  be  envied. 
She  must  have  endured  a  great  deal  of  solicitude  and  a 
great  deal  of  suffering,  during  her  life;  but  it  must  have 
gone  far  towards  counterbalancing  it  all,  to  be  remem- 
bered thus,  under  such  circumstances,  and  by  such  a  son. 


CHAPTER   III. 

HUMAN    DUTY, 

OR  THE  SAVIOR'S   MESSAGE    TO   MANKIND. 

"  And  they  went  out  and  preached  that  men  should  repent." 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  and  one  which  has  often  sur- 
prised careful  readers  of  the  Bible,  that  scarcely  any 
thing  is  said  by  our  Savior  himself,  in  regard  to  his  own 
sufferings,  as  the  ground  of  human  salvation,  while  the 
writings  and  addresses  of  the  apostles  are  full  of  this 
theme.  There  is  a  most  extraordinary  contrast,  in  this 
respect,  between  the  gospels  and  the  epistles.  In  the 
former,  Christ's  sufferings  and  death  are  scarcely  ever 
spoken  of,  in  the  latter,  nothing  is  spoken  of  so  much. 
This  state  of  the  case  has,  on  the  one  hand,  led  many 
persons  to  underrate  the  influence  and  importance  of 
our  Savior's  sufferings  and  death,  and  they  defend  their 
views  by  referring  to  the  nature  of  our  Savior's  instruc- 


72  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  S. 

Wronj  way  to  read  the  Bible.  K'g'it  way. 

tions.  Others  err  on  the  other  side,  by  taking  the 
epistles  as  their  only  model,  —  not  sufiicicntly  consid- 
ering the  character  of  Christ's  instructions.  Others 
are  embarrassed  when  they  think  on  this  subject ;  they 
do  not  know  how  to  reconcile  the  seeming  inconsistency, 
thougli  they  endeavor  to  diminish  it,  as  far  as  possible, 
by  exaggerating  and  emphasizing  the  little  which  Jesus 
Christ  did  say,  in  regard  to  his  suflerings  and  death. 
We  ought  always  to  suspect  ourselves  when  we  are 
attempting  to  get  out  of  scriptural  difficuhies  in  this 
way; — by  loading  passages  of  scripture  with  more  meaiv- 
ing  than  they  will  naturally  bear;  a  process  very  coir>- 
mon  among  theological  writers.  The  best  way  is  to  let 
the  Bible  speak  for  itself  We  must  not  try  to  improve 
it,  but  just  let  it  tell  its  own  story,  in  its  own  way.  The 
man  who,  when  he  reads  some  of  the  strong,  decided 
passages  in  the  Epistles,  ascribing  all  hope  of  human 
salvation  to  the  atoning  sacrifice  of  the  Son  of  God, 
finds  himself  holding  back  from  the  writer's  view,  endeav- 
oring to  qualify  the  language  or  to  explain  it  away,  is 
not  studying  the  Bible  in  the  right  spirit.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  who  cannot  take  the  directions  which  Christ  or 
John  gave,  for  beginning  a  life  of  piety  by  simple  repent- 
ance for  the  past,  without  adding  something  from  his  own 
theological  stores,  or  forcing  the  language  to  express 
what  never  could  have  been  understood  by  those  who 
originally  heard  it, — he  cannot  be  studying  this  book 
with  the  right  spirit.  We  must  take  the  Bible  as  it  is; 
and  there  certainly  is  a  very  striking  and  extraordinary 
difference,  between  the  public  instructions  of  our  Savior 
himself,  and  those  of  his  apostles,  in  respect  to  the 
prominence  given  to  the  efficacy  of  his  sufferings  in 
preparing  the  way  for  the  salvation  of  men.  Let  us  look 
into  this. 

Whenever,  under  any  government,  a  wrong  is  done, 
there  is,  as  any  one  will  see,  a  broad  distinction  between 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  73 

The  school  house.  A  stormy  night.  Trouble 

the  measures,  which  the  government  must  adopt,  in 
order  to  render  it  safe  to  pardon,  and  the  conditions  with 
which  the  guilty  individual  is  required  to  comply,  in 
order  to  avail  himself  of  the  offer.  To  make  this  plain, 
even  to  my  younger  readers,  I  will  describe  a  case.  It 
illustrates  the  principle,  I  admit,  on  a  very  small  scale. 

In  a  remote  and  newly  settled  town  in  New  England, 
on  the  shore  of  a  beautiful  pond,  and  under  a  hill  covered 
and  surrounded  with  forests,  was  a  small  school  house, 
to  which,  during  the  leisure  months  of  the  winter,  thirty 
or  forty  boys  and  girls  gathered,  day  after  day,  from 
the  small  farm-houses,  which  were  scattered  over  the 
valleys  around.  One  evening  a  sort  of  exhibition  was 
held  there.  Before  the  time  had  arrived,  there  had  been 
indications  of  an  approaching  snow  storm.  These  in- 
creased during  the  evening;  and  when,  at  the  close  of 
it,  the  assembly  began  to  disperse,  they  found  that  the 
Btorm  had  fairly  set  in. 

The  master  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  putting  away  his 
papers,  and  preparing  to  go  home.  The  snow  was 
beating  against  the  windows,  and  the  aspect  of  the  cold 
and  stormy  weather  without,  made  many  of  the  scholars 
reluctant  to  leave  the  warm  and  bright  fire,  which  was 
still  burning  on  the  spacious  hearth.  For  many  of  them, 
sleighs  were  to  be  sent  by  their  friends,  others  were 
waiting  for  company,  and  every  minute  or  two  the  door 
would  open  and  admit  a  boy  shivering  with  cold,  and 
white  with  snow. 

Presently  the  master  heard  some  voices  at  the  door, 
in  which  he  could  distinguish  tones  of  complaint  and 
suffering.  Several  of  the  boys  seemed  to  be  talking 
together,  apparently  about  some  act  of  injustice  which 
had  occurred,  and  after  waiting  a  few  minutes,  the  master 
sent  for  all  the  boys  who  were  standing  at  the  door,  to 
come  to  him. 

Half  a  dozen  walked  eagerly  in,  and  behind  them 
7 


74  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  3, 

The  lost  cap.  Conversation.  Tlic  teacher's  perplexity* 

followed  one,  more  reluctantly;  his  head  was  bare,  and 
he  had  evidently  been  in  tears.  As  they  entered  the 
room,  the  conversation  among  the  other  cinldrcn  was 
hushed,  all  their  preparations  were  suspended,  and  every 
face  was  turned  with  an  expression  of  eager  interest 
towards  the  master,  as  this  group  approached  him. 

"William,"  said  the  master  to  one  of  the  foremost, 
*'  there  seems  to  have  been  some  trouble,  will  you  tell 
me  what  it  is?" 

"  Yes  sir:  Joe  Symmes  threw  his  cap,"  (pointing  to 
the  sorrowful  looking  boy  in  the  rear,)  "  off  upon  the 
pond,  and  it  has  blown  away  and  he  cannot  find  if." 

"Joseph,"  said  the  master,  "is  it  so?  " 

Joseph  acknowledged  the  fact.  It  appeared,  on  more 
careful  inquiry,  that  there  had  been  some  angry  collision 
between  the  boys,  in  which  Joseph  had  been  almost 
entirely  to  blame;  it  was  a  case  of  that  kind  of  tyranny 
of  the  stronger,  which  is  so  common  among  school  boys. 
In  the  end,  he  had  seized  his  schoolmate's  cap,  and 
thrown  it  off  upon  the  icy  surface  of  the  pond,  over  which 
it  had  glided  away  with  the  driving  wind  and  snow,  and 
was  soon  lost  from  view.  Joseph  said  he  knew  it  was 
wrong,  and  he  was  sorry.  He  said  he  ran  after  it,  as 
soon  as  it  was  gone,  but  he  lost  sight  of  it,  and  that  now 
he  did  not  know  what  he  could  do  to  get  it  again. 

The  master  told  the  boys  they  might  go  to  the  fire, 
while  he  considered,  for  a  few  minutes,  what  he  ougjit  to 
do. 

When  left  alone,  the  teacher  reflected  that  there  were 
two  separate  subjects  of  consideration  for  him.  First 
there  was  an  individual  who  had  been  guilty  of  an  act  of 
injustice.  Next  there  was  a  little  community,  who  had 
been  witnesses  of  that  injustice,  and  were  all  in  suspense, 
waiting  to  know  what  would  follow. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  punish  Joseph,"  thought  he,  ''for  he 
seems  to  be  sorry  for  what  he  has  done,  and  I  think  it 


Ch.  3,]  HUMAN    DUTY.  75 

The  plan  formed.  Penitence  necessary  before  forgiveness. 

highly  probable  he  will  not  repeat  it;  but  if  I  let  such  a 
Case  pass  with  a  mere  reproof,  I  fear  it  will  do  injury 
to  the  school.  The  boys  will  have  less  abhorrence  in 
future  for  acts  of  injustice  and  oppression  by  the  strong- 
er, than  they  have  had.  Just  in  proportion  as  they  see 
sin,  without  seeing  sad  results  coming  from  it,  they  will 
lose  their  sensitiveness  to  its  guilt.  I  must  not  let  this 
case  pass,  without  something  to  make  a  moral  impres- 
sion. I  wish  I  could  do  this  without  bringing  suffering 
tipon  Joseph,  but  I  do  not  see  how  I  can." 

"Ah!  I  see  what  I  can  do;"  thought  he,  "I  will  take 
the  suffering  myself  Yes;  I  will  forgive  Joseph  at  once, 
and  then  I  will  go  out  myself  and  find  the  cap,  or  help 
tliem  find  it,  and  when  the  scholars  see,  that  the  conse- 
quences of  this  offence  come  upon  my  head,  bringing  me 
inconvenience  and  even  suffering,  especially  if  they  see 
me  bear  them  with  a  kind  and  forgiving  spirit,  perhaps 
it  will  do  as  much  good  as  punishing  Joseph  would  do. 
Yes;  I  know  that  all  my  pupils,  and  Joseph  among  the 
rest,  are  strongly  attached  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  that  when 
they  see  me  going  out  into  the  cold  storm,  over  the  ice, 
and  through  the  snow,  to  repair  the  injury  which  he  has 
done,  it  will  make  a  strong  impression.  In  fact  it  will,  I 
am  sure,  touch  them  more  effectually,  and  produce  a 
much  stronger  dislike  to  such  a  spirit,  than  four  times  as 
much  inconvenience  and  suffering  inflicted  as  a  punish- 
ment upon  Joseph  himself." 

It  is  evident  now  that  such  a  plan  would  be  safe  and 
proper  only  on  supposition  that  Joseph  is  really  sorry 
for  what  he  has  done.  The  course  proposed  would  be 
altogether  inadmissable,  if  the  offender,  instead  of  being 
humble  and  penitent,  should  appear  angry  and  stubborn. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  master's  plan  was  a  wise 
one,  although  real  penitence  on  the  part  of  Joseph  would 
be  absolutely  necessary,  nothing  else  would  be  neces- 
sary.    He  need  not  know  any  thing  about  the  plan  on 


76  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  S. 

Dutinction  illustrated.  A  dialogue.  Forgivenesfi  of  Joseplw 

which  the  master  relies,  for  producing  the  right  moral 
impression  on  the  little  community. 

Now  tlie  wliole  object  of  this  illustration,  is  to  bring 
clearly  forward  the  distinction,  between  what  is  neces- 
sary as  a  measure  of  govermncjit, —  in  order  to  prepare 
tlie  way  to  ofier  pardon,  and  what  is  necessary  as  an  act 
of  the  aim'mal,  in  order  to  enable  him  to  receive  it. 

It  is  very  evident,  in  this  case,  that  these  two  things 
are  entirely  distinct  and  disconnected,  and  that  it  is  not 
at  all  necessary  that  Joseph  should  know  the  ground  on 
which  the  Teacher  concluded  it  safe  for  him  to  be  for- 
given. The  master's  suffering  the  inconvenience  and 
trouble  is  an  essential  thing  to  be  done,  in  order  to  render 
it  safe  to  forgive ;  but  it  is  not  an  essential  thing  to  be 
knoivn,  at  the  time  forgiveness  is  declared.  In  fact,  the 
most  delicate  and  the  most  successful  mode  of  managing 
the  affair,  would  be  for  him  to  say  nothing  about  it,  but 
amply  to  do  the  thing,  and  let  it  produce  its  effects. 

Accordingly  the  master,  in  this  case,  after  a  few  min* 
utes  of  reflection,  called  the  boys  to  him  again. 

"Joseph,"  said  he,  "you  have  done  wrong,  in  op- 
pressing one  younger  and  weaker  than  yourself,  and  I 
might  justly  punish  you.  I  have  concluded  however  to 
forgive  you;  — that  is  if  you  are  sorry.    Are  you  sorry?'* 

"  Yes  sir,  I  am,"  replied  the  boy  distinctly. 

"And  are  you  willing  to  make  proper  reparation,  if  I 
will  tell  you  what  to  do?" 

"Yes  sir." 

"  James,"  continued  the  master,  "  are  you  willing  he 
should  be  forgiven?" 

"  Yes  sir,  I  am  willing  he  should  be  forgiven,  but  how 
shall  I  get  my  cap?" 

"  I  will  talk  with  you  about  that,  presently.  You  see 
that  is  another  part  of  the  subject;  the  question  now  is, 
what  is  to  be  done  with  Joseph?  He  has  done  wrong, 
and  might  justly  be  punished,  but  he  is  sorry  for  it,  and 
in  this  case,  I  conclude  not  to  punish  him." 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  77 

The  teacher's  walk.  Effect  on  the  boys.  Joseph. 

If  the  whole  subject  were  to  be  left  here,  the  reader 
will  perceive  how  incomplete  and  unfinished  the  trans- 
action would  be  considered,  in  respect  to  its  effects  on 
those  who  witnessed  it.  It  would,  if  left  here,  bring 
down  the  standard  of  justice  and  kindness  among  the 
boys.  And  if  the  pupils  had  been  accustomed  to  an 
efficient  government,  they  would  be  surprised  at  such  a 
result. 

But  still,  though  the  teacher  had  something  in  reserve 
to  prevent  such  an  injury,  it  was  not,  as  I  have  said 
before,  at  all  necessary,  nay  it  was  not  expedient,  that 
he  should  say  any  thing  about  it,  thus  far.  Joseph's 
penitence  was  essential  to  render  his  pardon  proper. 
This  it  was  indeed  necessary  for  him  to  understand. 
The  measure  to  be  adopted,  was  essential  to  render  that 
pardon  safe.  This  it  was  essential  for  no  one  but  the 
master  to  understand.  It  was  necessary  that  the  moral 
effect  should  be  produced  on  all,  but  the  measure  which 
the  master  had  in  view  for  producing  it,  might  safely 
remain  unexplained,  till  the  time  came  for  putting  it  into 
execution. 

After  all  was  thus  settled  with  the  boys,  the  master 
took  down  his  cloak,  and  said  he  would  go  out  and  see 
if  he  could  find  the  cap.  Joseph  wanted  to  go  with  him, 
but  his  teacher  replied,  that  it  would  do  no  good  for  him 
to  go  out  in  the  cold  too; — it  might  be  necessary  to 
go  quite  across  the  pond.  He  however  asked  Joseph 
to  show  him  exactly  where  he  had  thrown  the  cap,  and 
then,  noticing  the  direction  of  the  wind,  the  master  walk- 
ed on  in  pursuit. 

A  cluster  of  boys  stood  at  the  door,  and  the  girls 
crowded  at  the  windows  to  see  their  teacher  work  his 
way  over  the  slippery  surface,  stopping  to  examine  every 
dark  object,  and  exploring  with  his  feet  every  little  drifl 
of  snow.  They  said  nothing  about  the  philosophy  of  the 
transaction;    in  fact  they  did  not   understand   it.     The 


78  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  3. 

The  teachcr'8  return.  Moral  efiect  of  Christ's  sufferiDgs. 

theory  of  moral  government  was  a  science  unknown  to 
them;  but  every  heart  was  warm  witli  gratitude  to  their 
teacher,  and  alive  to  a  vivid  sense  of  the  criminality  of 
such  conduct  as  had  resuUed  thus.  And  when,  after  a 
time,  they  saw  him  returning  with  the  cap  in  his  hand, 
which  he  liad  found  half  buried  in  the  snow,  under  a 
bank  on  the  opposite  shore,  there  was  not  one  whose 
heart  was  not  full  of  afTcction  and  gratitude  towards  the 
teacher,  and  of  displeasure  at  the  sin.  And  the  teacher 
himself,  though  he  said  not  a  word  in  explanation,  felt 
that  by  that  occurrence,  a  more  effectual  blow  had  been 
struck  at  every  thing  like  unkindness  and  ill-will  among 
his  pupils,  than  would  have  been  secured  by  any  reproofs 
he  could  have  administered,  or  by  any  plan  of  punish- 
ment, however  just  and  severe. 

Such  a  case  is  analogous,  in  many  respects,  to  the 
measures  God  has  adopted  to  make  the  forgiveness  of 
human  guilt  safe.  It  is  only  one  point,  however,  of  the 
analogy,  which  I  wish  the  reader  to  observe  here,  viz. 
that  though  the  measure  in  question  was  a  thing  essen- 
tial for  the  master  io  do,  it  was  not  essential  for  the  crim- 
inal to  understand,  at  the  time  he  was  forgiven. 

So  in  regard  to  the  moral  effect  in  God's  government, 
produced  by  the  sufferings  of  Jesus  Christ,  in  preparing 
the  way  for  the  forgiveness  of  sin.  The  measure  was 
necessary  to  render  free  forgiveness  safe,  but  a  clear 
understanding  of  its  nature  and  of  its  moral  efTect,  is 
not  always  necessary  to  enable  the  individual  sinner  to 
avail  himself  of  it. 

In  the  early  ages  of  the  world,  it  was  obscurely  inti- 
mated to  men,  that,  through  some  future  descendant  of 
Abraham,  measures  were  to  be  adopted,  which  should 
open  the  way  for  the  expiation  of  human  guilt.  What 
these  measures  were,  few,  if  any,  understood;  they  were 
in  many  cases,  anxiously  waiting  for  a  developement  of 
them,  but,   in  the  meantime,  it  was  universally  under- 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  79 

Essentials.  The  penitent  child.  The  shipwrecked  minister. 

etood,  that  if  any  man  would  forsake  his  sins  and  serve 
Jehovah,  he  should  be  forgiven.  The  simple  proclam- 
ation, "Repent  and  be  forgiven,"  went  everywhere. 
The  ground,  on  which  such  a  proclamation  could  be  safe 
and  wise,  it  was  for  God  alone  to  consider,  and  to  reveal 
to  men,  just  as  soon,  and  just  as  extensively,  as  he  might 
eee  fit. 

Let  it  be  understood,  that  I  am  speaking  of  what  is 
essential,  not  what  is  desirable.  The  knowledge  of  our 
Savior's  sufferings  and  death,  and  clear  ideas  of  the 
grounds  of  them,  have  been  in  every  age,  the  most  pow- 
erful of  all  possible  means  of  impressing  the  heart,  and 
leading  men  to  God.  Still  they  are  not  the  only  means. 
Man  could  not  have  been  forgiven  if  Christ  had  not  died, 
but  he  may  be  forgiven,  and  yet  not  know  that  Christ 
died,  till  he  actually  meets  him  in  heaven. 

The  moment  a  little  child,  for  instance,  is  capable  of 
knowing  that  it  has  a  Maker,  and  of  discerning  between 
right  and  wrong,  it  is  capable  of  loving  God,  and  feeling 
penitence  for  sin;  and  the  mysterious  influences  of  the 
Spirit  may  as  easily  awaken  these  feelings  at  this  age,  as 
at  any  other.  It  can  be  forgiven,  however,  only  through 
the  sufferings  of  its  Savior,  and  yet  months  must  elapse, 
before  it  can  know  any  thing  about  these  sufferings;  and 
years,  before  it  can  look  into  the  principles  of  govern^ 
ment  enough,  to  see  why  they  were  necessary,  or  to 
appreciate  at  all  the  moral  impression  they  produce. 

Suppose  a  christian  minister  is  thrown  by  shipwreck 
ypon  a  savage  island,  and  in  a  state  of  sickness  and 
exhaustion  so  great,  that  he  feels  that  he  must  sink  in  a 
few  days  to  the  grave.  He  knows  nothing  of  the  lan- 
guage, but  he  soon  succeeds,  by  careful  attention,  in 
obtaining  phrases  enough  to  preach  repentance. 

"  There  is  a  God,"  he  says  to  those  around  him  in 
his  dying  hour.  "  He  will  punish  the  bad. — Become 
good  and  you  will  please  him." 


80  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  3. 

The  savages.  Conscience,  the  univcrsHi  monitor. 

"Ah!"  reply  the  savages,  '*  we  have  all  been  bad 
already, —  very  bad." 

"  Think  not  about  the  past,"  he  replies.  *'  It  will  be 
forgiven: — there  is  a  way: —  I  cannot  explain  it.  Leave 
your  wickedness  and  do  right,  and  God  will  save  you." 

As  he  utters  these  words,  his  strength  fails,  and  his 
audience  can  hear  no  more.  But  they  have  heard 
enough.  I  do  not  say  enough  to  indtice  them  to  forsake 
their  sins  and  return  to  God,  but  to  show  them  how  to 
do  it.  And  if  men,  after  hearing  only  such  a  sermon  as 
that,  were  to  continue  their  lives  of  wickedness,  and  die 
unchanged,  it  would  still  be  true,  that  the  opportunity  of 
mercy  had  been  fully  before  them. 

*'We  did  not  know,"  they  might  say,  when  called  to 
account,  "  that  a  Savior  had  died  for  us,  and  conse- 
quently could  not  know  how  we  could  be  forgiven," 

"  You  are  without  excuse;"  the  judge  might  reply. 
*'  It  was  for  you  to  abandon  your  sins; —  It  was  for  me 
to  consider  how  you  could  be  forgiven." 

Now  every  savage  that  ever  lived  has  had  just  such 
a  sermon  as  this  preached  to  him.  Not  by  a  christian 
minister,  indeed,  wrecked  on  the  reefs  of  his  island,  but 
by  a  far  more  faithful  and  intelligible  preacher  than  any 
such  would  be.  Conscience,  the  universal  ambassador 
from  heaven,  has  been  unceasingly  faithful,  in  every 
age,  and  in  every  clime,  preaching  repentance,  and  open- 
ing the  door  of  salvation  to  every  human  soul.  That 
our  fellowmen  do  almost  invariably,  if  left  to  this  warn- 
ing voice  alone,  disregard  it  and  persist  in  sin,  is  indeed 
true;  but  at  the  day  of  judgment  it  will  appear  that,  of 
all  the  countless  millions  of  the  human  family,  though 
but  a  very  small  portion  ever  heard  of  a  Savior,  there 
never  was  one,  who  might  not  have  been  saved  through 
his  death,  if  he  had  done  what  God,  during  all  his  life, 
was  continually  calling  him  to  do. 

Though  this  preaching,  that  is  the  simple  call  to  re- 


Ch.  3.] 

HUMAN    DUTY. 

81 

Duty  plain. 

John  the  Baptist.           Jonah. 

Voice  of  conscience. 

pentance,  is  generally  powerless,  it  is  not  always  so. 
In  the  Jewish  nation  there  were  undoubtedly  a  great 
many  penitent  and  pardoned  men,  though  they  knew  lit- 
tle or  nothing  of  their  future  Savior.  John  the  Baptist 
undoubtedly  made  many  true  converts;  even  Jonah's 
preaching  was  successful;  and  a  hundred  and  twenty,  at 
least,  were  found  to  have  received  aright  the  instructions 
of  our  Savior,  though  even  his  apostles  did  not  know 
that  he  was  to  be  crucified  for  them.  It  is  so  too  in  our 
times.  True  piety,  unquestionably,  often  exists  where 
there  is  a  very  imperfect  understanding,  or  a  very  limited 
appreciation  of  the  nature  of  the  great  sacrifice  for  sin. 
This  fact  is  very  evident  to  all,  though  it  often  very 
much  embarrasses  those  who  do  not  properly  distinguish 
between  what  it  is  necessary  for  man  to  do,  in  order  to 
be  saved,  and  what  it  is  necessary  for  God  to  do,  in  order 
to  render  it  safe  to  save  him.  On  this  latter  point,  the 
human  soul  may  be  kept  in  the  dark  by  a  thousand  cir- 
cumstances, for  which  it  is  not  responsible;  but  in 
regard  to  the  former,  it  cannot  be  kept  in  ignorance  or 
led  into  mistake.  Conscience  may  indeed  be  perverted; 
but  still,  it  will  sometimes  speak, — more  or  less  distinctly 
it  is  true, — but  it  will  speak:  and  not  a  human  being  can 
get  through  his  time  of  trial  here,  without  hearing  its 
warning.  God  has  given  it  a  message  to  every  one, 
which,  if  heeded,  will  secure  salvation;  and  that  message 
it  will  in  every  case,  most  assuredly  deliver. 

It  seems,  then,  that  Jesus  Christ  very  clearly  recog- 
nised the  distinction  between  the  provision  which  God 
must  make,  in  order  to  open  the  way  for  human  salva- 
tion, and  the  part  which  man  must  perform,  to  avail 
himself  of  it,  and  it  is  the  last,  very  evidently,  which  it 
is  of  direct  and  immediate  importance  for  man  to  know. 
It  was  the  last,  which  he  accordingly  devoted  his  chief 
time  and  attention  in  urging  on  man, —  viz.    his  own 


82  THE    COUNEU- STONE.  [Ch.  3. 


Personal  duty  pkin,  though  universally  neglected. 

personal,  immediato  duty.  They  who  lieard  him  were 
indeed  inexcusable  before,  but  tiie  clearness,  the  distinct- 
ness and  the  emphasis,  with  which  he  brought  forward 
tlie  claims  of  God  over  human  hearts,  rendered  them 
more  inexcusable  still. 

And  here  I  must  remark,  that  this  mode  of  attempting 
to  turn  men  to  God,  met  with  oply  very  partial  success. 
Jesus  Christ  succeeded  in  persuading  very  few.  It  was 
not  till  afterwards,  when  the  love  of  Christ  in  dying  for 
men,  was  loudly  and  universally  proclaimed,  that  hearts 
were  touched,  and  penitence  awakened.  But  still  this 
preaching  of  the  sufferings  of  Christ  afterwards,  was  not 
throwing  additional  light  upon  duty,  —  it  was  only  a  new 
inducement  to  do  it.  The  great  duty,  repentance,  was 
tlie  same  afterwards  as  before.  The  o-nly  dilTerence  was, 
tliat  men  were  more  easily  led  to  repent,  after  they  had 
learned  the  greatness  of  the  sacrifice  by  which  alone  peiv- 
itence  could  be  available.  They  ought,  however,  to  have 
repented  before;  if  they  had  done  so,  God  would  have 
forgiven  them,  though  they  could  not  have  understood 
how  such  forgiveness  could  safely  be  bestowed.  And  so 
it  is  now.  By  the  sacrifice  of  the  Son  of  God,  the  door 
of  SALVATiOxN  ON  REPENTANCE,  is  Opened  to  cvcry  human 
being  on  the  globe.* 

But  to  return.  The  great  subject  of  Christ's  instruc- 
tions seems  to  have  been  simply,  human  duty.    It  was  his 

*  It  has  often  been  made  a  question  among  religious  writers,  whetb- 
er,  in  point  of  fact,  repentance  and  salvation  ever  come  to  the  inhab- 
itants of  those  benighted  countries,  where  the  Savior  has  never  been 
known.  Into  this  question  we  do  not  now  enter;  i.  e.  it  is  not  our 
design  here  to  inquire  whether  they  ever  do  repent  and  forsake  their 
sins,  but  only  to  exhibit  the  sentiment  held  up  by  the  apostle,  in  the 
first  chapter  to  the  Romans,  that  God  has  not  left  himself  without 
witness  to  any  son  or  daughter  of  Adam.  It  is  certain  that  if  they 
would  listen  to  this  voice,  and  repent  of  sin,  they  would  be  forgiven. 
Whether  they  will  or  not,  is  a  question  which  we  consider  more 
fully  in  the  following  chapter. 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  83 

God's  deeign  in  the  creation.  The  ten  commandments. 

object  to  explain,  not  the  great  arrangements  and  meas- 
ures of  God's  government,  but  the  duties  which  each 
individual  sinner  had  personally  to  perform. 

In  order  to  exhibit  clearly  the  ground  he  took,  we 
must  consider  a  moment,  the  plan  which  God  had  in  view 
in  creating  men.  It  was  his  design  to  form  one  great, 
united  and  happy  family,  with  himself  at  the  head  of  it. 
He  meant  to  devote  himself  to  the  happiness  of  his  crea- 
tures, and  he  wished  them  to  be  interested  in  each  other, 
and  joined  to  him.  It  is  exactly  the  plan  which  every 
wise  parent  adopts  in  his  family.  Many  a  father  does 
all  he  can  to  promote  this  mutual  good-will  among  his 
children,  and  this  feeling  of  dependence  and  attachment 
towards  him  as  their  head,  while  he,  nevertheless,  stead- 
ily refuses  to  come  under  the  same  system  in  his  relation 
to  God,  who  is  the  great  head  of  the  family  to  which 
he  himself  belongs.  His  children,  one  would  suppose, 
might  often  see  the  contrast  between  the  filial  and  frater- 
nal duty,  which  he  is  willing  to  perform  himself,  and  what 
he  expects  of  them. 

Taking  this  view  of  the  design  of  God,  in  regard  to  the 
family  of  man,  we  shall  be  surprised  to  see  how  admira- 
bly adapted  to  secure  it,  that  code  of  laws  is,  which  he 
originally  gave  to  men.  We  have  read  the  ten  com- 
mandments so  many  times,  nay  they  have  been  so  long, 
send  so  indelibly  impressed  on  the  memory,  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  approach  them  in  such  a  way,  as  to  get  a 
fresh  and  vivid  conception  of  their  character.  To  obvi- 
ate in  some  degree,  this  difficulty,  I  give  the  substance 
of  them  in  other  language,  so  that  the  reader  may  see 
more  clearly,  by  looking  at  them,  as  it  were,  in  a  new 
light,  with  what  admirable  skill  they  are  adapted  to  th« 
object.  The  wisest  assembly  of  statesmen  or  legislators 
which  ever  convened,  if  called  together  to  form  a  code 
for  the  world, —  to  apply  to  every  nation,  and  to  operate 
through  all  time,  could  not  have  made  a  better  selection 


84  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  SL 

Analysis  of  the  moral  law. 

of  points  to  be  brought  forward,  or  arranged  them  with 
more  scientific  and  logical  precision,  or  expressed  them 
in  clearer  terms.  And  yet  the  infidel  afiects  to  believe, 
that  they  were  the  production  of  the  half  civilized  leader 
of  a  wandering  horde, — contrived  just  to  assist  their 
author  in  maintaining  an  influence  over  his  semibarba- 
rous  followers!    But  let  us  look  at  this  code. 


THE   MORAL  LAW. 

I.     DUTY    TO    GOD. 

1.  Your  Maker  must  be  the  highest  object  of  your  in- 
terest and  affection.  Allow  nothing  to  come  before  him; 
but  make  it  your  first  and  great  desire  to  please  him  and 
to  obey  his  commands, 

2.  You  shall  never  speak  of  him  lightly  or  with  irrev- 
erence, and  you  shall  not  regard  any  visible  object  as 
the  representative  of  him.  He  is  a  spirit,  invisible  from 
his  very  nature,  and  you  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and 
in  truth.   . 

3.  Consecrate  one  day  in  seven  to  the  worship  of 
God,  and  to  your  own  religious  improvement.  Entirely 
suspend,  for  this  purpose,  all  worldly  employments,  and 
sacredly  devote  the  day  to  God. 

II.       DUTY    TO    PARENTS. 

1.  You  are  placed  in  this  world  under  the  care  of 
parents,  whom  God  makes  his  vicegerents,  to  provide  for 
your  early  wants,  and  to  afford  you  protection.  jVow  you 
must  obey  and  honor  them.  Do  what  they  command 
you,  and  comply  with  their  wishes,  and  always  treat 
them  with  respect  and  affection. 

III.      DUTY    TO    MANKIND. 

Keep  constantly  in  view,  in  all  your  intercourse  with 
men,  their  welfare  and  happiness,  as  well  as  your  own. 
Conscientiously  respect  the  rights  of  others,  in  regard, 

1.    To  the  security  of  life. 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY,  85 

Its  character.  Effects  of  obedience  to  it. 

2.  To  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  family. 

3.  To  property. 

4.  To  reputation. 

In  keeping  these  commands  too,  you  must  regulate 
your  heart  as  well  as  your  conduct.  God  forbids  the 
unholy  desire,  as  much  as  he  does  the  unholy  action. 

Such  is  God's  moral  law.  And  we  may  triumphantly 
ask,  where  is  the  statesman  or  philosopher,  who  can  mend 
it.  In  giving  it  as  above,  I  have  done  nothing  but  alter 
its  language,  so  as  to  present  it  with  freshness  to  the 
reader, —  and  number  its  sections,  so  as  to  bring  to  view 
its  admirable  arrangement.  I  have  not  omitted  a  provi- 
sion, or  added  one  not  originally  there,  nor  altered  the 
position  of  a  single  command.  Look  at  it  again;  and 
imagine  it  perfectly  obeyed  in  this  world.  What  a  world 
it  would  make  of  it!  This  is  that  great  law  of  God,  whose 
perfection  and  purity  are  praised  from  one  end  of  the 
Bible  to  the  other;  this  is  the  law  men  have  broken  and 
will  break;  and  in  regard  to  this  law  it  is,  that  the  whole 
controversy  is  pending  between  God  and  man.  Men 
pretend  to  find  a  great  mystery  about  the  nature  of  sin, 
and  the  nature  of  holiness,  to  excuse  themselves  for  re- 
maining unchanged ;  but  the  whole  mystery  is  here.  Here 
is  a  law  which  they  will  not  keep.  They  never  have 
kept  it,  and  they  will  not  begin.  And  yet  disregarded, 
violated,  trampled  upon  as  it  has  been  by  common  con- 
sent, throughout  the  whole  human  family,  no  man  has 
ever  dared  to  lift  up  his  voice  against  its  justice.  No. 
From  the  day  when  it  was  first  thundered  forth  on  Sinai, 
it  has  been  loudly  proclaiming  its  commands,  conscience, 
in  every  bosom,  re-echoing  its  voice;  and  the  boldest, 
the  wildest,  the  most  daring  opposer  of  God,  never  had 
a  word  to  say  against  the  justice  of  its  claims. 

Now  the  great  design  of  our  Savior's  instructions,  was 
to  induce  men  to  abandon  their  sins,  and  begin  at  once 

8 


86  THE    CORNER-STONE,  [Ch.  9L 

Spiritual  obedience  to  it.  The  Priest  and  the  Levitt 

to  keep  this  law.  He  explained  its  spirituality,  and 
brought  out  to  view  the  two  great  j)riiiciples  on  which 
all  its  commands  were  based;  supreme  alicction  to  God, 
and  disinterested  benevolence  towards  men. 

It  is  most  interesting  to  observe,  how  directly  and 
clearly  Jesus  Christ  always  insisted  upon  spiritual  obe- 
dience to  that  law.  I  mean  by  this,  obedience  of  the 
heart;  —  and  how  constantly  he  cut  off,  in  the  most  de- 
cided manner,  all  those  hollow  acts  of  mere  external 
conformity,  which  men  were  continually  substituting  in 
its  place.  And  it  is,  if  possible,  still  more  interesting  to 
observe,  how  liberal  and  expanded  were  his  views  in 
regard  to  the  outward  acts  by  which  this  heartfelt  com- 
pliance might  be  indicated.  On  the  one  hand,  no  act 
whatever,  and  no  course  of  life,  however  seemingly  re- 
ligious, would  satisfy  him,  if  there  was  evidence  that  the 
secret  feelings  of  the  heart  were  wrong.  On  the  other 
hand,  no  action  was  too  trivial  to  be  a  mark  of  piety,  if 
it  only  proceeded  from  the  right  spirit.  For  example, 
here  are  a  priest  and  a  Levite,  devoting  their  lives  to 
their  Maker's  service.  Nobody  doubts  their  eminent 
holiness.  How  does  the  Savior  judge?  Why,  he  leads 
them  along  a  road  where  a  man  lies  suffering.  He 
watches  to  see  what  they  will  do. —  They  pass  by  on  the 
other  side.  Ah,  that  reveals  the  secret!  A  man  may 
devote  his  life  to  the  external  service  of  God,  without 
really  loving  him  at  all;  but  he  cannot  really  love  him, 
and  yet  pass  by,  and  neglect  a  distressed  and  suffering 
brother.  And  so  in  a  thousand  other  cases.  The  beauty, 
the  clearness,  the  delicacy,  and  yet  the  searching,  scru- 
tinizing power  of  the  tests  he  applied  to  the  religious 
professions  of  those  days,  are  unparalleled.  They  would 
make  sad  work  with  some  of  the  bold,  self-sufficient, 
hollow-hearted  zeal,  which  exists  in  our  times. 

But  while  he  could  be  deceived  by  no  counterfeit,  and 
would  take  no  specious  appearances  on  trust,  but  cut 


Ch.  3.]                                     HUMAN    DUTY. 

87 

Various  ways  of  beginning  to  obey. 

The  absent  master. 

away,  with  a  most  unsparing  hand,  all  false  pretences, 
and  all  mere  external  show,  his  liberality,  in  regard  to 
modes  by  which  real,  genuine  piety  should  exhibit  itself, 
was  unbounded.  All  he  wished  was  to  have  the  heart 
right.  He  cared  not  how  its  feelings  were  evinced. 
He  found  a  man  engaged  in  his  ordinary  business,  and 
asked  him  to  leave  it  and  follow  him;  another  wished  to 
know  what  he  should  do  to  inherit  eternal  life,  and  he 
directed  him  to  employ  all  his  property  as  a  means  of 
doing  good;  in  another  case,  he  pronounced  an  indi- 
vidual forgiven,  merely  on  account  of  personal  kindness 
shown  to  himself !  Sometimes  he  called  on  men  to  re- 
pent; sometimes  to  believe  on  him;  sometimes  to  obey 
his  precepts.  He  was  satisfied  of  Mary's  piety,  by  the 
teachable,  docile  spirit  she  manifested,  in  listening  to 
his  conversation  in  her  house;  he  pronounced  many 
persons  forgiven,  on  account  of  the  feeling  with  which 
they  came  to  be  healed;  and  even  when  the  malefactor 
on  the  cross  asked  to  be  remembered,  the  Savior  con- 
sidered those  words  alone,  as  the  external  indications  of 
a  renewed  heart. 

It  is  very  evident  that  he  thought  it  of  comparatively 
little  consequence  what  men  did  first,  in  beginning  to 
serve  God.  The  great  point  was  to  induce  them  to 
serve  him  at  all.  We  are  very  slow  to  follow  his  exam- 
ple in  this  respect.  We  want  to  have  some  precise  way, 
in  which  all  men  shall  repent  and  be  saved.  We  arrange 
the  steps,  and  must  have  them  taken  in  their  exact,  pre- 
scribed order,  and  if  these  steps  are  not  followed,  we 
are  suspicious  and  afraid,  whatever  may  be  the  ultimate 
fruits.  We  consider  the  case  anomalous,  if  we  are  com- 
pelled to  admit  it  to  be  genuine. 

A  master  of  a  family,  we  will  suppose,  goes  away  from 
home,  leaving  his  sons  in  charge  of  his  affairs,  and  giving 
them  employment,  in  which  he  urges  them  to  be  diligent 
and  faithful  until   his   return.     After   he   leaves   them, 


88  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  3. 

The  disobedient  boys.  Expostulation.  How  to  begin. 

however,  they  all  neglect  their  duty,  and  live  in  idle- 
ness, or  occupy  themselves  solely  with  their  amuse- 
ments. A  friend  comes  in,  and  remonstrates  with  them. 
He  gives  them  a  lahorcd  account  of  tlie  radical  defects 
in  their  hearts,  the  j)hilosoj)hical  distinction  hetwecn  du- 
tiful and  undutiful  sons,  and  the  metaphysical  steps  of  a 
change  from  one  character  to  the  other.  His  discourse 
is  all  perfectly  true,  and  admirably  philosophical,  but  it 
is  sadly  impotent,  in  regard  to  making  any  impression  on 
human  hearts. 

Another  man  comes  to  address  them  in  a  different 
mode.  He  calls  upon  them  at  once  to  returi/to  their 
duty. 

"What  shall  we  do  first?"  ask  the  boys. 

"  Do  first.''  do  any  thing  first;  there  is  the  garden 
to  be  weeded,  and  the  hbrary  to  be  arranged,  and  your 
rooms  to  be  put  in  order.  No  matter  what  you  do  first. 
Begin  to  obey  your  father;  that  is  the  point." 

As  he  says  this  he  goes  around  the  premises,  and,  as 
he  finds  one  after  another,  loitering  in  idleness  or  mis- 
chief, he  calls  upon  them  to  return  to  duty.  They  are 
awakened;  they  see,  more  distinctly  than  they  had  done, 
their  negligence  and  guilt;  and  as  they  come  successive- 
ly, to  know  what  they  shall  do,  he  points  out  to  their 
attention  various  tasks,  according  to  the  age  and  situa- 
tion of  each.  His  object  is  not  merely  external,  but 
sincere  and  heartfelt  obedience,  but  he  cares  little  by 
what  particular  act,  the  new  course  of  obedience  begins. 

It  is  just  so  with  the  preaching  of  Jesus  Christ.  He 
explained  the  purity  and  beauty  and  perfection  of  God's 
holy  law,  and  then  called  upon  men  every  where  to 
begin  to  live  in  conformity  to  it.  It  is  no  matter  what 
they  do  first.  No  matter  with  what  particular  aspect 
the  dawning  light  of  Christianity  first  shines;  let  it  enter 
where  it  will,  it  will  rise  and  spread  till  it  illuminates  the 
whole.     Nor  can  any  external  action,  if  it  comes  from  the 


Ch.  3.] 

HUMAN    DUTY. 

89 

Giving  cold  water. 

Holiness  is  submission. 

right  spirit,  be  too  unimportant  to  constitute  the  first  step 
in  a  christian  course.  Jesus  Christ  acted  on  this  princi- 
ple most  fully.  He  even  said  that  if  a  man  would  give  a 
cup  of  cold  water,  to  a  disciple,  in  the  name  of  Christ, 
i.e.  from  christian  feeling,  he  should  not  lose  his  reward! 

Nor  is  that  remark  a  mere  metaphor,  striking  and 
beautiful  as  it  is.  It  is  strictly  true,  that  giving  a  cup 
of  water  to  a  follower  of  the  Savior,  may  be  the  first  act 
of  a  religious  life.  A  man  who  has  been  neglecting  or 
opposing  religion  all  his  days,  may  be  asked  by  a  chris- 
tian, some  trifling  favor  like  that,  and  the  opportunity  of 
promoting,  even  in  so  slight  a  degree,  the  cause  he  had 
been  opposing,  might  so  bring  to  his  view  the  happiness 
of  co-operating  with  God,  in  contrast  with  the  misery  and 
guilt  of  opposing  him,  that  his  heart  might  melt  at  once, 
and  he  might  do  that  little  deed  of  kindness,  in  the  exer- 
cise of  his  very  first  feeling  of  submission  to  his  Maker. 

The  course  which  our  Savior  pursued  is  the  most 
perfectly  philosophical.  Holiness  is  submission  to  God's 
law;  and  though,  in  principle  and  spirit  it  is  always  the 
same,  it  assumes  in  the  heart  many  different  forms;  or 
rather  a  holy  heart,  a  heart  willing  to  submit,  will  exist 
in  many  different  states,  according  to  the  object  pre- 
sented to  it.  Hold  up  God's  favors  to  it,  and  it  feels 
grateful;  present  its  past  sins  and  it  mourns:  show  God's 
goodness,  and  the  leading  principles  of  his  government 
and  character,  and  it  rejoices.  Thus  holiness  looking 
at  sin,  is  penitence;  at  God,  is  joy;  at  duty,  resolution; 
at  self,  humility;  at  human  woes,  compassion.  In  Abra- 
ham, it  shone  as  obedience;  in  Job,  as  patience;  in 
John,  as  love.  And  yet  in  all  it  is  one.  If  it  exist  in 
one  form,  it  will  exist  in  each  of  the  others,  when  the 
circumstances  call  for  them.  Job  would  have  been  obe- 
dient if  God  had  commanded  him  to  leave  his  country, 
and  Abraham  would  have  been  patient  under  suffering, 
like  Job.     We  hear  nothing  of  Joseph's  penitence,  nor 

8* 


90  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  3. 

Various  forms  of  piety.  The  conversion  of  a  liltle  child. 

of  Samuel's  faith  in  Christ,  nor  of  Daniel's  brotherly 
love.  But  it  was  the  same  spirit,  nevertheless,  which 
reigned  in  all  these  hearts,  appearing  by  different  ex- 
hibitions, but  in  all  its  hundred  forms  remaining  still  the 
same.  It  was  holiness, —  attcichment  to  the  cause  of 
God, —  desire  to  keep  his  pure  and  perfect  law,  and  sub- 
mission to  his  will.  This  spirit  shines  in  various  hues, 
and  with  different  degrees  of  lustre,  according  to  the  va- 
rying circumstances  and  conditions  of  the  hearts  in  which 
it  burns.  But  it  is  the  same  spirit,  whether  it  guides 
Abraham  across  the  desert,  or  inspires  David's  songs  of 
praise;  whether  it  leads  Peter  to  penitence,  fills  Stephen's 
heart  with  peace  and  joy, —  or  brings  thousands  in  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem,  to  believe  in  the  Savior  and  forsake 
their  sins.  It  is  not  enough,  to  say  that  these  various 
christian  graces  are  all  of  one  family;  they  are  all  in 
essence  one  and  the  same  thing:  so  that  if  one  comes, 
the  others  will  inevitably,  as  circumstances  call  them, 
all  follow  in  their  train. 

This  view  of  the  subject  is  of  immense  practical  im- 
portance to  all  who  are  endeavoring,  at  the  present  day, 
to  promote  piety.  It  shows  us  how  very  various,  and 
how  entirely  different,  may  be  the  first  steps  of  the  return 
to  God.  You  have  under  your  care,  for  instance,  a  lit- 
tle child.  He  is  too  young  to  know  much  about  religious 
truth; — the  nature  of  forgiveness, —  the  necessity  of 
punishment, —  the  love  of  the  Savior, —  or  a  judgment  to 
come.  You  can  tell  him  of  God,  however;  his  existence, 
his  presence,  his  holy  character;  and  then  you  can  just 
ask  him,  some  morning,  to  do  right  that  day  for  the  sake 
of  pleasing  him.  Perhaps  he  will  not.  He  may  try  to 
do  right,  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  your  praises  or  re- 
wards, without  feeling,  however,  any  desire  to  please  God. 
On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  he  will.  If  he  does,  it  will 
indeed  be  through  an  influence  exerted  upon  his  tender 
aflfections,  in  answer  to  vour  prayers;  but  he  may  be,  and 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  91 

Spiritual  darkness.  The  way  to  remove  it. 

probably  in  many  instances,  children  have  been,  under 
just  such  circumstances,  turned  to  God,  and  led  to  begin 
a  service,  which  they  are  still  continuing  in  heaven. 
Many  children  have  thus  been  reconciled  to  God,  when 
they  were  too  young  to  know  any  thing  about  the  source 
of  spiritual  life  within  them,  or  even  the  existence  of 
that  Savior,  through  whose  death  alone,  they  were  finally 
declared  justified  and  forgiven. 

There  are  many  modes  by  which  the  human  soul  may 
be  shut  up  in  darkness,  besides  through  the  weakness 
and  immaturity  of  infantile  powers.  There  are  the  in- 
veterate prejudices  of  an  erroneous  education,  the  influ- 
ence of  mistaken  friends,  the  colored  medium  through 
which  religious  truth  is  seen,  or  distortions  and  interrup- 
tions of  various  kinds  in  the  channels  by  which  it  is  con- 
veyed to  them.  If  now,  in  any  such  case,  means  can  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  heart,  so  as  by  divine  assistance 
to  awaken  any  one  christian  grace, —  any  single  truly 
christian  feeling, —  the  danger  is  over.  A  stone  is  taken 
out  of  the  firmly  compacted  arch  of  impenitence  and  sin, 
and  the  whole  structure  must  crumble  down.  Listening 
to  arguments  for  the  truth  will  often  confirm  men  in  error, 
but  doing  their  duty  will  inevitably  burst  its  chains.  "  If 
any  man  will  do  his  will,"  said  Jesus,  "  he  shall  know 
of  the  doctrine;  "  and  it  would  be  well  if  speculating, 
doubting  inquirers,  all  over  the  land,  should  learn  from 
it,  that  practical  obedience  should  come  before  specu- 
lations in  theology; — that  they  had  better  begin  to  do 
God's  will  first,  and  discuss  the  principles  of  his  govern- 
ment afterwards. 

But  we  are  wandering  from  our  subject,  which  is  the 
fact  that  Jesus  Christ  spent  all  his  strength  in  inducing 
men  to  submit  in  heart  to  God,  and  to  keep  his  holy  law, 
and  that  if  he  found  them  in  heart  willing  to  do  this,  he 
was  but  little  solicitous  about  the  precise  act  by  which 
the  new   life  should   begin.     These  acts  were   various 


92  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    3. 

Tho  various  wap  of  turning  to  God.  Forms  and  ceremonies. 

then,  and  they  are  various  now.  A  young  man,  for  ex- 
ample, liaving  licsitatcd  between  the  service  of  his  Ma- 
ker and  the  service  of  sin,  walks  out  alone  on  a  summer 
evening  upon  the  sea  shore,  and  there,  while  meditating 
upon  his  character  and  condition,  he  resolves  that  he  will 
hesitate  no  longer,  but  that  he  will  return  to  his  Maker; 
and  he  utters  with  honest  sincerity,  and  from  his  heart, 
the  Lord's  prayer, —  language  which  he  has  often  utter- 
ed, though  without  feeling,  before.  His  first  christian 
exercise  is  prayer.  Another,  is  overwhelmed  with  con- 
viction of  sin;  and  suffers  hour  after  hour,  or  day  after 
day,  under  its  oppressive  load.  At  last  his  heart  sud- 
denly feels  and  appreciates  and  rejoices  in  the  goodness 
and  holiness  against  which  he  has  been  contending;  he 
bursts  forth  in  God's  praise,  and  all  nature  seems  to  shine 
with  his  Maker's  glory.  His  first  christian  feeling  is 
joy.  Another's  heart  melts  into  godly  and  heartfelt  sor- 
row for  its  sins;  the  first  renewed  emotion  in  this  case, 
is  penitence.  There  is  no  end  to  the  variety  of  forms 
which  the  movements  of  spiritual  life  assumes;  and  Jesus 
Christ,  while  he  most  vigorously  insisted  that  it  should 
be  real,  genuine,  heartfelt  obedience,  to  The  Law,  at- 
tached no  importance  to  the  particular  act  by  which  it 
should  first  be  rendered. 

There  is  one  subject  more,  which  must  be  considered 
here.  I  refer  to  the  view  our  Savior  took  of  the  forms 
and  ceremonies  of  religion.  His  principle  was  this.  He 
devoted  all  his  strength  to  secure  spiritual  principles;  and 
in  regard  to  all  its  ceremonial  aspects,  he  left  religion  to 
accommodate  itself  to  the  varying  tastes  and  habits  of 
mankind,  and  to  the  changing  customs  and  states  of 
society,  which  the  progress  of  time  occasions.  It  is  re- 
markable how  little  he  specified  as  to  forms.  He  did  not 
even  arrange  any  form  of  church  government  for  his  own 
times,  nor  give  any  specific  directions  in  regard  to  any 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  93 

Do  THIS.  Practice  of  the  Apostles. 

christian  ceremonies;  an  example  unparalleled,  we  be- 
lieve, among  the  founders  of  religions.  There  is  some- 
thing peculiarly  striking  in  this  point  of  view,  in  his 
manner  of  instituting  the  celebration  of  the  supper.  In- 
stead of  having  a  sort  of  code  drawn  up,  specifying  the 
various  parts  of  the  ceremony,  the  kind  of  elements 
to  be  used,  the  frequency,  and  the  attending  circunv- 
stances, — he  simply  says,  at  the  close  of  his  last  supper, 
as  they  were  about  to  depart, — "  Do  this  in  remembrance 
Okfme."  This.  One  word  contains  the  whole  descrip- 
tion. He  could  not  have  left  it  more  vaguely  and  in- 
definitely expressed;  and  they  who  press  the  forms  of 
Christianity,  while  they  forget  its  spirit,  cannot  be  more 
pointedly  reproved  than  by  asking  them  to  contrast  the 
clearness,  the  point,  the  emphasis,  the  discriminating 
precision,  with  which  Christ  pressed  spiritual  duties  upon 
men,  with  the  unconcerned  and  almost  careless  air,  with 
which  he  dismissed  the  whole  subject  of  the  most  solemn 
ceremony  which  he  established,  with,  "  Do  this,  in  re- 
membrance of  me." 

After  our  Savior's  death,  the  apostles,  animated  by  the 
same  spirit,  gradually  established  modes  of  church  gov- 
ernment for  the  exigencies  of  their  own  times.  They 
modified  them  as  occasion  required,  and  so  careful  were 
they  to  leave  no  record  of  a  mode,  which  might  subse- 
quently be  made  a  rule,  that  no  ingenuity  has  been  able 
to  make  out  any  one  consistent  system,  from  the  various 
partial  directions  they  gave.  And  even  could  this  be 
done,  it  would  be  no  authority  for  us.  I  repeat  it, —  if 
a  clear  and  consistent  system  of  church  government  and 
of  modes  of  worship  could  be  deduced  from  the  practice 
merely  of  the  apostles,  it  would  be  no  rule  for  us.  We 
are  bound  to  believe  the  assertions  of  inspired  men,  but 
not  by  any  means  to  imitate  their  practice.  Their  prac- 
tice was  often  wrong;  though  this  is  not  what  we  here 
refer  to.     It  is  because  the  circumstances  in  which  they 


94  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  3. 

Forms  of  worship.  Example  of  Christ.  Changes  necessary, 

were  placed, —  the  state  of  society  and  the  condition  of 
the  world  were  peculiar,  and  from  the  very  nature  of  the 
case,  they  must  have  been  left  to  make  arrangements 
adapted  to  their  circumstances,  but  which  would  be  in- 
expedient in  ours.  Their  practice,  therefore,  even  where 
we  admit  they  were  riglit,  is  of  no  binding  obligation  on 
us.  So  that,  though  we  are  bound  to  believe  what  the 
Apostles  said,  we  are  not  bound  to  do  what  they  did,  un- 
less we  are  placed  in  the  same  circumstances.  In  fact, 
if  we  arc  to  go  back  at  all,  for  the  authority  of  practice, 
on  this  subject,  we  ought  to  go  back  to  the  fountain  head, 
and  imitate  the  Savior  himself;  that  is,  employ  none  but 
itinerant  preachers,  and  send  them  out  two  and  two!  ^he 
conclusion  is  irresistible. 

No.  Nothing  can  be  plainer,  than  that  Jesus  Christ 
meant  to  secure  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and  to  leave 
to  each  age  and  nation,  the  regulation  of  its  foims. 
He  adopted  one  mode, —  the  one  suited  to  his  purpose. 
His  apostles  immediately  adopted  another,  which  they 
clianged  as  circumstances  required;  and  it  has  gone  on 
changing  ever  since,  and  it  will  go  on  changing  probably 
until  the  millennium,  when  modes  and  forms  of  worship 
will  be  as  various  and  as  unnumbered,  as  the  domestic 
and  social  customs,  of  the  human  race,  divided  as  it  is, 
into  a  thousand  nations,  and  dwelling  in  every  variety 
of  region  and  clime. 

The  narrow-minded  view,  which  would  have  fixed  in 
Judea,  eighteen  centuries  ago,  a  system  of  organization 
to  be  adopted  by  all  the  races  of  men,  and  to  continue 
unchanged  for  forty  centuries,  would  have  worked  in- 
calculable mischief  Emergencies  continually  occur,  de- 
manding new  efforts,  on  new  or  modified  plans.  Some- 
times great  denominations  arise  thus,  and  accomplish 
what  existing  organizations  could  not  have  effected.  At 
other  times  gradual  political  changes  so  alter  the  genius, 
and  character,  and  habits  of  a  people,  that  the  external 


Ch.  3.]  HUMAN    DUTY.  95 

Common  error.  One  great  denomination.  Disastrous  results. 

form  in  which  Christianity  embodies  itself  must  change 
too.  It  is  the  spirit  alone  that  remains  stationary  and 
common  in  all. 

And  yet  nine-tenths  of  nominal  Christians,  all  over  the 
world,  are  firmly  believing  and  sincerely  wishing,  that 
their  own  denomination  may  extend  and  swallow  up  the 
rest,  and  become  universal.  But  let  us  consider  a 
moment,  what  would  be  the  result,  if  such  were  the 
case.  That  one  universal  denomination  would  soon 
have  leaders.  It  might,  or  might  not  be  so  constituted, 
as  to  have  them  in  name  and  office,  but  it  certainly 
would  have  been  in  reality.  Grant,  if  you  please,  that 
this  first  set  of  leaders  are  really  humble,  devoted,  honest 
Christians;  what  sort  of  men  would  be  ambitiously  look- 
ing up  to  their  posts,  and  begin  to  struggle  and  crowd 
for  the  succession?  Why  there  can  be  no  moral  effect 
more  certain,  than  that  in  such  a  case,  four  or  five  geu' 
erations  would  place  worldly,  selfish,  ambitious  men  at 
the  head  of  the  religious  interests  of  the  world!  We 
have  had  one  terrible  experiment  of  the  effects  of  one 
great  denomination,  to  illustrate  this  reasoning.  God 
grant  that  the  dark  day  may  never  come  again. 

It  was  the  spirit  of  Christianity  only  that  our  Savior 
urged.  He  proclaimed  forgiveness  to  all  who  would 
abandon  their  sins,  and  return  to  God,  and  keep  the 
great  moral  law,  which  had  been  enacted  for  the  general 
happiness.  He  proclaimed  the  fact  that  forgiveness  was 
sure,  and  thus  opened  the  door  of  hope  to  every  man; 
but  he  did  not  say  much  about  the  dark  path  of  sorrow 
and  suffering  which  he  should  himself  have  to  tread,  in 
order  to  open  the  way.  It  seems  as  if,  with  the  delicacy 
which  always  characterizes  ardent  love,  he  would  not 
inform  men  of  the  sufferings  he  was  about  to  bear  for 
them.  He  told  them  they  might  be  forgiven,  but  he 
never  reminded  them  of  their  obligations  to  him  for  pur- 


96  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4. 

Clirist's  sufTcrings.  Human  nature.  The  way  to  study  it. 

chasing  their  pardon.  Even  his  disciples,  till  they  came 
to  see  him  die,  had  no  conception  of  his  love.  They 
learned  it  at  last  however.  They  saw  him  suffer  and  die, 
and  inspiration  from  above  explained  to  them  something 
about  the  influence  of  his  death.  They  had  enjoyed  its 
benefits  long  before,  in  peace  with  God,  forgiveness  of 
sin,  and  hope  of  heaven;  but  now  for  the  first  time,  they 
understood  how  those  benefits  were  procured.  It  is  hard 
to  tell  which  touches  our  gratitude  most  sensibly;  the 
ardent  love  which  led  him  to  do  what  he  did,  or  the  deli- 
cacy with  which  he  refrained  from  speaking  of  it,  to 
those  who  were  to  reap  its  fruits.  He  did  all  he  could 
to  save  men,  and  then,  in  his  interviews  with  them,  spent 
his  time  in  trying  to  persuade  them  to  consent  to  be 
saved.     His  sufferings  he  left  to  tell  their  own  story. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HUMAN     NATURE, 

OR  THE  SAVIOR'S  RECEPTION  AMONG  MANKIND 

"  We  will  not  have  this  man  to  reign  over  us." 

In  the  last  chapter  we  considered  our  Savior  simply 
as  a  Teacher;  hereafter  we  shall  have  occasion  to  look 
at  him  more  particularly  as  a  sufferer.  In  the  meantime, 
we  must  devote  a  few  pages  to  considering  the  reception, 
which  the  principles  of  duty  he  inculcated  meet  with 
among  men. 

This  brings  us  at  once  to  the  study  of  human  nature; 
—  and  the  way  to  study  human  nature,  is  to  look  at  it  as 
it  exhibits  itself  in  the  actual  conduct  of  mankind.  If 
we  examine  it  thus,  we  shall  find  it  presenting  itself 
in  a  great  many  alluring  aspects.     Look,  for  instance, 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  97 

The  village.  Morning.  The  wife  and  mother. 

at  any  of  those  quiet  villages  which  may  be  found  by 
thousands  in  every  christian  land.  When  day  dawns, 
the  gray  light  looks  into  the  windows  of  a  hundred  dwel- 
lings, where  honest  industry  has  been  enjoying  repose. 
The  population  is  grouped  into  families,  according  to 
the  arrangement  which  God  has  made,  and  while  the 
eastern  sky  reddens  and  glows  by  the  reflection  of  the 
approaching  sun,  there  is,  in  every  dwelling,  a  mother, 
actively  engaged  in  providing  for  the  morning  wants  of 
the  household  which  God  has  committed  to  her  care. 
There  is  a  tie  around  her  heart,  binding  her  to  her  hus- 
band, her  children,  her  home,  and  to  all  the  domestic 
duties  which  devolve  upon  her.  These  duties  she  goes 
on  to  discharge,  though  they  are  ever  renewed  and  ever 
the  same.  She  does  it  day  after  day, —  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  times  this  year,  and  as  many  more  the 
next,  and  the  next,  perhaps  for  half  a  century.  What 
patience!  What  persevering  industry!  and  all,  not  for 
nerself,  but  for  others. 

At  the  proper  time,  all  the  families  of  the  village  as* 
semble,  each  in  its  own  quiet  home,  to  receive  their  food. 
The  breakfast  hour  for  one,  is  the  breakfast  hour  for  ali 
Each  conforms  to  the  customs  of  the  others,  with  a£ 
much  regularity  as  if  these  customs  were  enforced  bj 
penal  laws.  Every  one  is  at  liberty,  and  yet,  in  all  the 
important  arrangements  of  life,  they  all  agree.  And 
how  is  this  agreement  produced  ?  By  the  regard  whict 
every  one  has  for  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  the  rest: 
a  feeling  which  we  cannot  but  look  upon  with  pleasure; 
and  it  reigns  in  all  human  communities,  and  has  almost 
boundless  power  in  regulating  established  customs,  and 
preserving  the  order  of  society. 

We  next  see  our  villagers  going  forth  to  their  respec- 
tive labors.  You  will  observe  them  issuing  from  their 
various  dwellings,  and  repairing  to  their  work,  with  as 
much  regularity  as  if  on  a  preconcerted  signal.     The 

9 


98  THE    CORNER-STOXE.  [Ch.  4 

Industry.  Benevolence.  Exceptions  ranjb 

mechanics  go  to  their  shops,  the  tradesman  to  his  store, 
and  the  farmers  to  tlieir  fields;  and  tliouj^li  there  may  be 
here  and  there  an  exception,  they  continue  their  toil  as 
industriously  as  if  their  motions  were  watched,  and  all 
their  actions  controlled  by  masters,  who  had  the  right 
and  the  power  to  exact  fr(jm  tlicm  a  stated  daily  task. 
And  this  course  of  daily  active  industry  is  persevered  in 
through  life,  and  all  the  means  of  comfort  and  enjoyment, 
which  it  procures,  are  frugally  husbanded.  Sickness, 
death,  calamity,  may  produce  an  occasional  interrup- 
tion, and  even  paralyze,  for  a  time,  all  interest  in  worldly 
pursuits  and  duties;  but  the  elastic  spirit  rises  again, 
when  the  severity  of  pressure  is  removed,  and  again  finds 
occupation  and  enjoyment  in  its  daily  routine  of  toil. 

The  moral  beauty  of  it  all  consists  in  the  fact,  that  each 
man  labors  thus  industriously,  day  after  day,  and  year 
after  year,  not  mainly  for  himself,  but  for  others.  Each 
has,  upon  an  average,  four  or  five,  who  are  dependants 
upon  him,  and  it  is  for  them  mainly,  and  not  for  himself, 
that  he  confines  himself  so  constantly  to  his  daily  toil. 

There  may  be  exceptions.  Here  and  there  one  is  rdle 
and  dissolute,  leaving  the  inmates  of  his  wretched  home, 
to  mourn  the  guilt  of  the  husband  and  father,  and  to  feel 
its  bitter  consequences.  But  it  is  only  here  and  there 
one;  and  in  almost  every  such  case,  the  ills  which  the 
sufferers  would  otherwise  have  to  bear,  are  very  much 
alleviated  by  the  assistance  of  neighbors,  who  cannot 
well  enjoy  their  own  comforts  at  their  own  homes,  until 
they  have  relieved  the  pressure  of  want  that  is  so  near 
them.  The  great  majority  however  are  faithful  to  their 
trust;  held  to  duty,  not  by  compulsion,  nor  by  fear  of 
penalty,  but  by  a  tie  which  God  has  fastened  round  the 
heart,  and  whose  control  men  love  to  obey.  This  is 
human  nature. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  say  that  there  is  no  virtue  in 
all  this  seeming  benevolence,  because  such  is  the  nature 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  99 

Moral  beauty.  Night.  The  sick  child. 

of  the  tie,  by  which  the  father  and  the  mother  are  bound 
to  their  household,  that  the  faithful  discharge  of  their 
own  domestic  duties  is  the  way  to  secure  the  highest 
and  purest  happiness  to  themselves.  It  is  so,  undoubt- 
edly; and  it  is  the  very  moral  beauty  which  we  have 
been  endeavoring  to  point  out,  that  in  a  case  of  such 
universal  application,  the  human  heart  is  such,  that  it 
can  find,  and  does  find,  its  own  purest  and  highest 
enjoyment,  in  unceasing  efforts  to  promote  the  enjoy- 
ment of  others. 

Thus  the  day  passes  on  in  our  peaceful,  quiet  village: 
tlie  evenino;  brings  recreations  of  various  kinds:  some 
indeed  seek  guilty  pleasures,  but  far  the  greater  number 
find  happiness  at  home.  INight  brings  universal  repose, 
the  members  of  each  family  sleeping  quietly  under  their 
own  roof,  "  with  none  to  molest  or  make  them  afraid." 
Or  if  there  is  a  solitary  one,  who  prowls  about  at  mid- 
night, to  steal,  or  burn,  or  kill,  he  is  but  one  among  a 
thousand, —  a  rare  and  abhorred  exception  to  the  gen- 
eral rule. 

Perhaps,  however,  under  one  roof  there  is  sickness 
A  pale  and  feeble  child,  who  has  been  a  source  of 
unceasing  anxiety  and  trouble  to  his  parents,  from  his 
very  birth,  lies  in  his  little  couch,  restless  and  feverish, 
under  an  attack  of  some  new  disease. 

"  Mother,  your  sleep  has  been  disturbed  enough  by 
its  restlessness  and  its  cries.  Carry  it  away  to  some 
remote  apartment,  and  leave  it  there,  to  moan  alone 
under  its  sufferings,  so  that  you  may  sleep,  for  once, 
undisturbed.  If  it  should  die  before  the  morning,  you 
will  only  be  relieved  of  a  continual  and  heavy  burden." 

"  Father,  leave  the  little  sufferer  to  its  fate.  You 
will  then  sleep  quietly  through  the  night,  and  the  neces- 
sity for  toil  will  be  diminished  on  the  morrow.  Why 
should  you  take  such  pains,  and  bear  such  watching  and 
such  fatigue  for  this  child }  Even  if  he  lives,  he  will  never 


100  THE    COKNER-STONE.  [Cll.  4. 

The  projwsal.  Watchfulness.  Moral  beauty. 

repay  you;  but  as  soon  as  he  becomes  a  man,  he  will  go 
out  from  your  roof,  away  into  the  world,  and  you  will  see 
him  no  more.  Abandon  the  little  suflerer  therefore,  now; 
—  send  him  away  to  a  distant  room  and  leave  him." 

The  proposal  makes  father  and  mother  cling  still  more 
closely  to  their  suffering  child,  and  when  at  midnight 
every  house  in  the  village  seems  desolate  and  still,  you 
will  see  from  the  two  windows  of  their  chamber,  the  glow 
of  lamp  and  fire  within,  contrasted  with  the  cold  white 
light,  with  which  the  moon  silvers  the  windows  of  other 
dwellings.  In  that  chamber  the  sleepless  mother  watch- 
es, with  love  which  no  sacrifices  can  exhaust,  and  no 
protracted  efforts  tire.  It  expands  to  meet  every  emer- 
gency, and  rises  higher  and  higher,  in  exact  proportion 
to  the  wants  and  sufferings  of  its  feeble  object.  The 
light  will  continue  at  those  windows,  till  the  morning 
dawn  extinguishes  it;  and  as  long  as  the  loved  object 
needs  this  watchfulness  and  care,  those  windows  will 
show  the  same  signal  of  sickness  and  suffering,  as  regu- 
larly and  as  constantly  as  night  returns. 

There  is  a  great  moral  beauty  in  this;  and  in  all  those 
principles  of  human  nature,  by  which  heart  is  bound  to 
heart,  and  communities  are  linked  together,  in  bonds 
of  peace  and  harmony,  and  of  mutual  co-operation  and 
good  will.  Some  persons  may  indeed  say  that  there  is 
nothing  of  a  moral  character  in  it.  We  will  not  contend 
for  a  word.  There  is  beauty  in  it  of  some  sort,  it  is  cer- 
tain, for  the  man  who  can  look  upon  these,  and  similar 
aspects  of  human  character,  without  some  gratification, 
is  not  human.  It  is  beauty  of  some  sort,  and  it  is  not 
physical  nor  intellectual:  —  if  any  man  chooses  to  apply 
some  other  term  than  moral  to  characterize  it,  we  will 
not  contend.     At  any  rate,  it  is  human  nature. 

But  nearly  all  that  there  is  which  appears  alluring  in 
the  above  views,  or  any  other  views,  which  can  be  taken 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  101 

Human  virtue.  Its  two  foundations. 

of  human  nature,  when  left  to  itself,  is  to  be  resolved  into 
two  principles.  And  these  principles  are  such  that  if 
virtue  can  be  based  upon  them  at  all,  it  is  certainly  vir- 
tue of  the  lowest  character.  The  principles  are  these. 
Natural  Affection,  and  Policy;  the  two  foundations  on 
which  rest  nine-tenths  of  all  which  is  called  virtue  in 
this  world.  There  is  indeed,  among  men,  a  vast  amount 
of  industry  and  frugality;  of  faithful  domestic  attachment, 
and  persevering  performance  of  the  ordinary  duties  of 
life;  there  is  honesty,  and  conscientiousness,  and  dislike 
of  suffering,  which  leads  to  many  efforts  to  remove  or 
alleviate  it.  But  after  all,  for  we  must,  to  be  honest, 
come  to  the  unpleasant  conclusion,  nearly  the  whole  has 
its  only  basis  in  feelings  of  natural  affection,  or  on  views 
of  enlightened  policy.  The  results  are  beautiful;  they 
are  essential  to  the  well-being,  and  almost  to  the  exist- 
ence of  society,  but,  when  we  come  honestly  to  analyze 
their  causes,  we  shall  see  that  instinctive  affection  and 
views  of  policy  produce  nearly  the  whole.  God  has 
taken  care,  so  to  form  the  human  heart,  and  so  to  consti- 
tute communities,  that  these  influences  of  natural  affec- 
tion, and  these  considerations  of  policy,  shall  be  enough, 
in  ordinary  instances,  to  protect  the  outward  frame-work 
of  society.  This  outward  frame-work,  therefore,  is  sus- 
tained very  well.  The  rest,  —  all  that  is  within,  the 
region  of  the  heart,  the  private  feelings  and  private  con- 
duct between  man  and  man,  he  has  attempted  to  regulate 
by  his  law.  And  what  is  the  consequence.^  Why  what 
he  impels  man  to  do,  by  fixed  and  certain  constitutional 
tendencies,  and  what  he  makes  it  plainly  his  interest  to 
do,  that  is  done.  But  all  the  rest  fails.  His  laws  are 
broken,  his  authority  contemned,  and  though  the  exte- 
rior fabric  of  society  is  protected,  as  we  have  seen,  and 
presents  so  beautiful  and  imposing  an  aspect,  the  heart 
sickens  as  we  look  at  what  is  within. 

Take  our  village  for  instance.     If  we  look  at  its  exto- 


102  THE    COUNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4. 

The  village  exuniincd.  Real  characters. 

rior  arrangements,  how  fair  it  seems.  But  the  reader 
would  shut  this  book  in  displeasure  at  its  harshness,  if  I 
were  to  describe,  with  anything  like  fairness,  the  feelings 
and  emotions  which  really  reign  in  the  hearts  of  its  in- 
habitants. The  children  all  know  that  God  their  IMaker 
has  said  to  them,  "  you  sliall  not  disobey  your  father  and 
mother."  They  care  no  more  for  it,  than  for  the  idle 
wind.  The  mother  who  watches  over  her  sick  child, 
has  perhaps  a  heart  rising  against  God,  repining  and 
unsubmissive.  It  seems  to  be  an  honest  village,  for  the 
inhabitants  do  not  rob  or  murder  each  other  in  the  night. 
Honest!  why  there  is  not  a  man  who  will  trust  his  neigh- 
bor to  make  a  bargain  between  himself  and  him,  without 
watching  his  own  interests  with  the  utmost  eagerness. 
They  seem  to  be  benevolent;  that  is,  they  cannot  bear 
to  witness  any  great  physical  suffering,  and  they  take 
measures  to  alleviate  or  remove  it.  Benevolent!  the 
amount  of  real  heartfelt  benevolence  among  them  is 
shown  by  this  fact:  that  if  any  man  comes  forward  with 
a  plan  for  doing  good,  and  asks  the  co-operation  of  his 
neighbors,  nine  out  of  ten  of  them  will  believe,  that  his 
interest  is  in  some  way  or  other  directly  connected  with 
it,  and  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  they  will 
be  right!  Such  a  view  of  human  character,  on  paper, 
is  objected  to,  and  opposed  by  many;  but  still  they  know 
that  it  is  in  fact  true.  They  act  on  the  presumption  of 
its  truth,  in  all  their  dealings  with  men;  and  their  know- 
ledge of  mankind  is  abundantly  sufficient  to  convince 
them,  that  if  the  hearts  of  the  inhabitants  of  any  village 
could  be  really  unmasked,  they  would  present  such  dis- 
closures of  envy,  malice,  strifes,  selfishness,  ill-will,  pride 
and  revenge,  as  would  justify  the  strongest  language 
which  could  possibly  be  used  to  describe  them. 

It  is  astonishing  what  beautiful,  what  admirable  re- 
sults, may  be  secured  in  human  society,  by  the  operation 
of  these  natural  impulses  and  views  of  policy,  while  each 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  103 

The  post  office.  Apparent  virtue.  A  distinction. 

individual  of  the  community  may  be  the  abandoned  slave 
of  sin.  The  following  is  a  striking  illustration  of  it.  A 
man  may  drop  a  letter  containing  a  hundred  dollar  bill, 
into  any  post  office  in  the  country.  He  slips  it  through 
a  little  aperture,  and  does  not  know  who  is  on  the  other 
side.  The  man  who  takes  it  up  is  a  stranger.  He  par- 
ses it  into  the  hands  of  another  stranger;  and  thus  it  goes 
from  hand  to  hand,  from  driver  to  driver,  and  clerk  to 
clerk,  for  a  thousand  miles,  and  at  last  his  correspondent 
safely  receives  the  money  from  some  one,  he  knows  not 
whom.  And  what  has  been  its  protection?  A  sheet  of 
paper,  fastened  with  a  little  colored  paste:  or  in  its  con- 
dition of  greatest  security,  a  leathern  bag,  closed  by  a 
lock,  which  any  stone  by  the  side  of  the  road  would  shat- 
ter to  pieces.  The  treasure  is  thus  carried  over  soli- 
tary roads,  through  forests,  and  among  the  mountains; 
and  is  passed  from  one  hand  to  another,  in  a  state  of 
what  would  seem  to  be  most  complete  exposure.  What 
honest  men  these  agents  thus  trusted,  must  be!  is  the 
first  reflection.  Honest!  Why  the  writer  of  the  letter 
would  not  really  trust  a  tenth  part  of  the  sum  to  the 
honesty  of  a  single  one  of  them.  They  may  be  honest, 
or  they  may  not,  but  the  careless  observer  who  should 
attribute  the  safe  result  to  the  honesty  of  the  men,  would 
be  most  grossly  deceived.  It  is  an  adroit  arrangement, 
— most  admirably  and  skilfully  planned,  by  human  wis- 
dom, and  acting  by  means  of  principles  which  Gad  has 
implanted, —  that  secures  the  result.  The  merchant 
trusts  the  money  to  agents  whom  he  does  not  know,  not 
because  he  thinks  they  are  honest,  but  because  he  knows 
they  are  ivise;  he  relies  on  human  nature,  but  it  is  the 
shrewd  policy  of  human  nature, — not  its  sense  of  justice. 
Forgetting  this  distinction  has  been  the  means  of  a 
great  proportion  of  the  disputes  which  have  raged  in  the 
world  about  human  character.  In  philosophizing  upon 
the  subject,  a  writer,  of  a  poetic  turn,  is  deluded  by  the 


104  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4 

No  real  (iiHcrcnce  of  opinion  about  humun  character. 

beauty,  the  moral  beauty,  we  may  perhaps  safely  say, 
of  results,  which  really  depend  on  very  different  princi- 
ples in  human  hearts,  from  what  they  seem  to  indicate. 
They  who  have  tlie  most  romantic  ideas  of  liuman  nature 
in  theory,  do  not  fail  of  being  sufhciently  guarded  and 
suspicious  in  their  dealings  with  mankind;  or  if  they 
do,  they  soon  inevitably  become  soured  by  disappointed 
hopes,  and  while  they  panegyrize  the  race  in  the  mass, 
they  bitterly  accuse  and  reproach  it  in  detail.  Besides, 
there  is  one  proof,  and  that  on  a  most  extensive  scale, 
of  the  real  nature  of  worldly  virtue;  it  is  this, —  a  fact 
which  no  man  competent  to  judge,  will  deny, —  that  all 
the  arrangements  of  business  in  every  community,  and 
in  every  scheme  of  government  which  was  ever  formed 
by  human  skill,  go  on  the  plan  of  making  it  for  the  in- 
terest of  men  to  do  right,  and  not  on  the  plan  of  confi- 
dence in  the  integrity  and  moral  principle  of  their  hearts. 
A  government  and  a  system  of  institutions  based  on  the 
idea,  that  men  were  in  a  majority  of  cases,  disposed  to 
do  their  duty  of  their  own  accord,  could  not  stand  a  day. 
But  all  this  is  not  the  worst.  It  is  not  the  falseness 
and  hollowness  of  worldly  virtues,  nor  the  vices  of  heart 
and  life  which  prevail  every  where  among  men,  which 
are  the  great  subjects  of  the  charge  which  God  makes 
against  us.  It  is  another  thing  altogether, — viz.  that 
men  will  not  submit  to  the  reign  of  God  over 
THEM.  This  is  their  settled,  determined,  universal  de- 
cision. It  is  called  in  the  Bible  by  various  names; — un- 
godliness, rebellion,  unbelief,  enmity  against  God,  and 
many  others.  Jehovah  has  proclaimed  a  law;  men  diso- 
bey it  altogether.  They  do  indeed  some  things  which 
are  commanded  in  that  law,  but  then  it  is  only  because 
it  happens  to  suit  their  convenience.  He  tells  us  we  are 
not  our  own  but  his; — we  pay  no  regard  to  it,  but  go  on 
serving  ourselves.  He  tells  us  that  all  will  soon  be  over 
with  us  in  this  world,  and  that  in  a  very  short  time  we 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  105 

Alienation  from  God:  settled  and  universal.  Evidences* 

must  stand  in  judgment  before  him.  Who  believes  it? 
He  charges  the  man  of  wealth  to  act  as  his  Maker's 
steward  in  managing  his  property,  and  sacredly  to  appro- 
priate it  to  his  cause;  the  wealthy  man  regards  it  just  as 
much  as  he  would  a  similar  claim  from  the  beggar  in  the 
street.  He  calls  upon  men  of  rank  and  influence  to  glo- 
rify him  by  exhibiting  pure  and  holy  lives,  in  the  con- 
spicuous stations  in  which  he  has  placed  them;  look  at 
the  princes  and  nobles,  the  legislators  and  statesmen  of 
this  world,  and  see  how  they  obey.  By  his  word  and 
by  his  spirit,  he  tells  us  of  our  undying  souls,  of  the  value 
of  holiness  and  spiritual  peace,  of  the  deep  guilt  of  sin, 
of  mercy  through  a  Savior,  and  of  eternal  life  with  him 
in  heaven;  men  turn  away  from  such  subjects  in  utter 
contempt.  These  topics  whenever  introduced  among  the 
vulgar  classes  of  society,  will  ordinarily  be  received  with 
open  derision  and  scorn;  and  the  refined  circles  of  so- 
ciety, with  as  decided,  though  with  a  little  more  polite 
hostility,  will  not  alIov»'  their  introduction.  There  is  as 
real,  and  certain,  and  determined  a  combination  among 
men,  to  exclude  God  and  his  law  from  any  actual  con- 
trol over  human  hearts,  as  if  the  standard  of  open  rebel- 
lion was  raised,  and  there  were  gathered  around  it  all 
the  demonstrations  of  physical  resistance. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  reason  why  subjects  con- 
nected with  God  and  religion  are  so  excluded  from  con- 
versation in  polite  circles  of  society,  is  the  fact,  that  when 
such  subjects  are  introduced,  they  are  so  often  a  cloak 
of  hypocrisy  and  deceit.  I  know  it  is  so,  and  this  fact 
constitutes  the  most  complete  and  overwhelming  evidence 
of  the  extent  to  which  this  world  is  alienated  from  God. 
Even  what  little  professed  regard  there  is  for  him  here, 
is,  two  thirds  of  it,  hypocrisy!  This  is,  in  fact,  what  the 
objection  amounts  to;  and  what  a  story  does  it  tell,  in  re- 
gard to  the  place  which  God  holds  in  human  hearts.  No. 
As  men  have   generally  made  up   their  minds  to  have 


106  THE    COIINEU-STONE.  [Cll.  4. 

Use  of  God's  name.  Fult*e  religious.  Mint,  aiiiiie  and  cummin. 

nothing  to  do  with  God,  they  are  determined  to  hear  noth- 
ing about  him,  unless  it  be  in  such  general  terms,  and  in 
such  lornial  ways,  as  shall  not  be  in  danger  of  making  an 
impression.  We  may  almost  wonder  how  eternal  justice 
can  si)are  tliis  earth  from  day  to  day,  when  we  reflect 
npon  what  is  uncjuestionably  the  awful  fact,  that  through- 
out all  those  countries  where  the  true  God  is  known,  in 
four  cases  out  of  five  in  which  his  name  is  mentioned 
at  all,  it  is  used  in  oaths  and  blasphemies. 

The  world  has  been  full  of  religions,  it  is  true:  but  they 
have  been  the  schemes  of  designing  men,  to  gain  an 
ascendency  over  tlie  ignorant,  by  deceiving  and  bribing 
that  conscience  which  God  has  placed  in  every  heart  to 
testify  for  him.  It  has  been  the  studied  aim  of  these 
religions  to  evade  the  obligation  of  moral  huv,  and  the 
authority  of  a  pure,  and  holy  and  spiritual  Deity,  Thej 
substitute  for  it  empty  rites  and  ceremonies,  in  order  to 
dive  d  the  attention  of  the  sentry  which  God  has  station- 
od  m  the  soul,  while  all  the  unholy  lusts  and  passions 
are  left  unrestrained.  The  Pharisees  gave  a  specimen 
which  will  answer  for  all.  Unjust  and  cruel  towards 
men,  unfaithful  and  unbelieving  towards  God,  and  habit- 
ually violating  and  trampling  under  foot  the  whole  spirit 
of  his  law,  they  would  go  out  into  their  gardens,  and  care- 
fully take  one  tenth  of  every  little  herb  which  grew  there; 
and  this  they  would  carry  with  ridiculous  solemnity,  to 
the  Temple  of  God,  to  show  their  exact  observance  of 
his  commands!  This  is  an  admirable  example  of  the 
spirit  and  nature  of  all  false  religions.  Men  will  do  any 
thing  else  but  really  give  themselves  up  to  God.  They 
will  go  barefooted  to  Jerusalem,  for  the  sake  of  being 
sainted  on  their  return:  they  will  fight  under  the  cres- 
cent for  plunder  or  military  renown;  they  will  build 
churches  and  contribute  money  to  public  charities,  from 
a  hundred  different  motives;  but  as  to  coming  and  really 
believing  all  that  God  has  said,  and  giving  up  the  whole 


Ch.  4.]                                  HUMAN    NATURE. 

107 

The  door  of  salvation  open. 

Men  will  not  enter. 

soul  to  him,  entering  his  service,  and  looking  forward 
habitually  to  heaven  as  their  home,  tlieij  will  not  do  iL 
It  has  been  proposed  to  them  again  and  again,  in  every 
variety  of  mode,  and  they  will  not  do  it.  The  proph- 
ets proposed  it.  JNlen  stoned  them.  Jesus  Christ  pro- 
posed it.  They  crucified  him.  The  apostles  and  their 
immediate  successors  proposed  it.  In  the  course  of  a 
very  few  generations  they  succeeded  in  bribing  them, 
by  means  of  worldly  rewards  and  honors,  to  pervert  their 
message,  and  leave  the  world  undisturbed  in  its  sins. 

The  preceding  chapter  of  this  work  opened,  perhaps 
the  reader  thought,  a  very  broad  door  of  salvation,  and 
would  lead  one  to  ask,  who  can  help  being  saved.  It 
was  indeed  a  wide  door;  one  which  all  might  enter;  the 
condition  simple,  and  universally  proclaimed.  "Let  the 
wicked  forsake  his  way  and  the  unrighteous  man  his 
thoughts:  and  let  him  return  unto  the  Lord  and  he  will 
have  mercy  upon  him;  and  to  our  God  for  he  will  abun- 
dantly pardon."  "  In  every  nation  he  that  feareth  God 
and  worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted  of  him."  But 
the  difficuhyis,  that,  widely  extended  as  the  gates  of  sal- 
vation are,  and  simple  as  is  the  entrance,  men  will  not 
COME  in.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  saved,  and  they  will 
not  seek  salvation.  They  do  not  love  holiness;  they  do 
not  like  the  idea  of  serving  God:  penitence,  humility, 
broken  hearted  submission  to  God's  will,  and  spiritual 
peace  and  happiness,  they  do  not  like.  They  want  to  be 
making  money,  or  gaining  admiration,  or  enjoying  sen- 
sual pleasure;  and  persuasion  is  not  merely  insufficient 
to  change  them, — it  does  not  even  tend  to  change.  You 
cannot  change  the  desires  and  affections  of  the  heart  by 
persuasion.  No;  plain,  and  simple,  and  open  to  every 
man,  as  is  the  way  of  life,  men  choose  another  way,  and 
if  the  {ew  imperfect  exceptions  which  exist,  were  not 
accounted  for  in  the  Bible,  we  should  be  utterly  unable 
to  account  for  them  at  all;  so  fixed,  and  settled,  and 


108                                     THE    CORNER-STONE. 

[Ch.4. 

Insincerity  among  Clnistians. 

0|)en  vice  and  criina* 

universal  a  characteristic  it  is  of  human  nature,  to  wish 
to  have,  in  this  hfe,  as  Httle  as  possible  to  do  with  Goa 
and  eternity.  Kven  the  Httle  love  to  God  and  submis- 
sion to  him  which  exists,  is  so  adulterated  that  it  scarce 
deserves  the  name.  The  enemies  of  religion  know  tliis 
very  well.  They  charge  us  with  selfislmess  and  ambi- 
tion and  party  spirit,  as  the  real  springs  of  a  large  por- 
tion of  our  pretended  etlbrts  in  behalf  of  religion.  And 
they  are  right.  We  deny  it  in  our  eager  controversies 
with  our  foes,  but  every  true  Christian  acknowledges 
and  bewails  it  in  his  closet  before  God. 

We  see  thus  that  the  great,  the  destroying  guilt  of 
human  souls,  is  not  open  vice  and  crime,  but  determined 
and  persevering  alienation  from  God.  The  question 
whether  a  person  becomes  vicious  and  criminal  depends 
almost  entirely  upon  circumstances.  A  child  brought  up 
in  the  cabin  of  a  smuggler,  or  on  board  a  piratical  ship, 
will  almost  inevitably  become  a  robber  or  murderer;  while 
on  the  other  hand,  the  son  of  christian  parents,  who  is 
trained  up  properly  in  a  christian  land,  will  almost  as  in- 
evitably learn  to  respect  and  obey  the  laws.  But  though 
they  may  thus  widely  differ  in  external  conduct,  they 
may  both  reject,  with  equal  determination,  all  the  au- 
thority of  God  over  them.  Bpth  are  equally  under  the 
control  of  a  worldly  spirit,  though  they  gratify  this  spirit 
in  different  ways. 

Whenever  we  carry  the  law  of  God  to  human  souls, 
and  bring  home  to  the  conscience  and  the  heart,  the 
summons  to  surrender  to  it,  it  meets,  from  all  the  varie- 
ties of  human  character,  with  substantially  the  same 
reception.  Take  it  to  savages  on  their  remote  island. 
Explain  the  law  to  them,  show  its  moral  perfection;  offer 
them  forgiveness  for  the  past  if  they  will  now  subdue 
their  passions,  and  cease  their  murderous  quarrels,  and 
give  themselves  up  to  the  service  of  the  pure  and  holy 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  109 

Salvation  oflfered  to  children.  Its  reception.  Tlie  little  child. 

Spirit,  and  become  like  him,  pure,  and  holy,  and  merci- 
ful and  kind.     Will  they  obey. ^ 

Come  then  to  a  christian  land,  and  collect  an  assem- 
bly of  children.  Describe  to  them  the  cold,  cheerless 
misery  of  sin;  call  their  attention  to  the  secret  corrodings 
of  remorse,  which  they  all  suffer  every  day.  Remind 
them  of  their  ingratitude  and  disobedience  to  their 
parents,  and  their  neglect  of  God;  tell  them  how  rapidly 
time  is  flying,  and  how  soon  they  must  appear  before 
their  Maker.  Describe  the  moral  beauty  of  a  holy 
character, —  pure,  docile,  faithful,  grateful  to  father  and 
mother,  and  filled  with  affection  for  God, —  the  soul  re- 
signed and  submissive  to  his  will,  and  happy  in  a  sense 
of  his  forgiveness  and  protection.  Then  ask  them  to 
come  and  give  themselves  to  their  Savior,  and  to  begin 
lives  of  purity  and  duty  and  holiness.  What  will  they 
do?  They  will  sit  still  while  you  speak,  if  they  have 
been  trained  to  sit  still  on  such  occasions,  and  perhaps 
a  few  may  listen  with  real  attention;  but  after  you  have 
finished  all  you  have  to  say,  they  will  go  away  with  hearts 
as  cold  towards  God  as  if  they  had  been  indurating  under 
the  influence  of  sin  for  a  hundred  years. 

Take  younger  children  then.  Here  is  a  little  one,  just 
able  to  run  about  the  floor  and  talk,  and  it  yet  knows 
little  or  nothing  about  God.  It  obeys  its  mother's  ex- 
press commands,  because  it  finds  from  experience  that 
some  unpleasant  consequences  will  ensue  if  it  does  not, 
and  its  obedience  is  just  in  proportion  to  the  certainty 
of  these  consequences.  Call  this  child  to  you  now,  and 
tell  it  of  duties  and  obligations  to  God.  Try  to  awaken 
gratitude,  filial  love,  and  willingness  to  obey  him.  Try 
in  a  word  to  establish  an  acquaintance  and  communion 
of  feeling  between  its  heart,  and  the  unseen,  eternal 
spirit  around  it,  and  to  awaken  gratitude  for  his  favors, 
and  a  desire  to  please  him  and  to  do  his  will.  And  what 
will  be  your  success.^     Why  you   may  excite  surprise; 

10 


110  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4. 

The  wealthy  mercliaiU.  The  message  to  him. 

you  mny  arrest  a  momentary  attention,  you  may  awakea 
awe  and  even  terror,  by  bringing  death  and  a  coming 
judgment  to  view.  But  to  link  that  heiirt  by  any  sub- 
stantial tie,  to  its  maker  and  benefactor,  and  kindest  and 
dearest  friend,  will  battle  all  your  powers. 

Make  the  experiment  then  upon  a  maturer  mind. 
Here  is  a  wealthy  merchant,  engaged  in  business,  which 
abundant  prosperity  from  God  has  brought  before  him. 
In  order  that  there  may  be  nothing  exceptionable  in  the 
form  and  manner  in  which  his  duty  as  a  child  of  God 
is  brought  before  him,  we  will  suppose  that  he  is  sick, 
and  has  sent  for  his  pastor  to  come  and  visit  him.  Let 
this  pastor  explain  what  is  meant  by  the  requisition  of 
the  Bible,  that  a  man  of  wealth  should  feel  that  his 
wealth  is  not  his  own,  but  that  he  holds  it  as  steward, — 
agent; — and  that  he  is  bound  to  be  faithful  to  the  trust 
committed  to  him.  He  knows  very  well  what  are  the 
duties  of  trustee.  He  understands  the  distinction  be- 
tween agent  and  principal;  so  that  no  long  explanation 
is  necessary.  Let  the  pastor  simply  call  his  attention 
to  the  point,  and  bring  home  to  his  mind  the  nearness 
of  eternity,  the  inconceivable  importance  of  the  salvation 
of  his  soul,  and  that  of  his  workmen,  his  clerks,  his 
salesmen,  his  navigators;  and  plead  with  him  to  come 
out  honCvStly  and  openly  and  with  all  his  heart,  on  the 
side  of  God  and  holiness; — to  let  his  light  shine; — and 
to  devote  every  thing  he  has  to  the  work  of  helping  for- 
ward God's  cause  in  the  world.  Suppose  this  exper- 
iment were  to  be  tried,  who  that  knows  mankind  will 
doubt  about  the  result.  One  half  the  christian  pastors 
in  the  world  would  be  so  convinced  of  its  hopelessness, 
that  they  would  not  make  the  attempt.  They  would 
not  ask,  plainly  and  directly,  a  worldly  man  under  such 
circumstances,  to  give  himself  up  to  God.  And  if  they 
should  bring  the  question  forward,  plainly  and  faithfully, 
and  in  all  its  honest  truth,  instead  of  winning  new  con- 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  Ill 

Enmity  against  God.  The  amiable  girl. 

verts  to  God,  they  would,  in  nine  cases  out  often,  in  any 
commercial  city  in  Christendom,  excite  high  displeasure, 
and  very  likely  never  be  able  to  gain  admission  to  the 
bedside  again.  Worldly  men  are  very  willing  to  sustain 
the  external  institutions  of  religion,  and  to  assemble  on  the 
Sabbath  from  time  to  time,  to  hear  praises  of  the  moral 
virtues,  or  discussions  of  the  abstract  excellences  of 
religion.     But  you  cannot  take  such  a  text  as  this,  "  Ye 

ARE  NOT  YOUR  OWN,  YE  ARE  BOUGHT  WITH  A  PRICE, 
THEREFORE    GLORIFY    GoD    IN    YOUR    BODIES  AND  IN    YOUR 

SPIRITS  WHICH  ARE  God's:"  and  fairly  bring  it  before 
men's  consciences  and  hearts,  so  that  they  shall  really 
understand  its  meaning,  without  awakening  strong  oppo- 
sition or  dislike.  It  is  opposition  and  dislike  to  some- 
thing. They  say  it  is  not  enmity  against  God.  But 
that  certainly  looks  very  much  like  enmity  against  God 
and  his  government,  which  is  excited  by  the  presenta- 
tion of  the  very  fundamental  principle  of  all  his  laws. 

But  do  not  let  us  despair.  There  may  be  some  one 
yet,  who  will  admit  God,  though  all  these  have  rejected 
him.  Here  is  an  amiable  and  gentle  girl;  obedient  to 
her  parents,  faithful  in  many  of  her  duties,  affectionate, 
kind.  Let  us  bring  to  her  the  invitation  to  come  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Exemplary  as  she  is  in  exter- 
nal conduct,  she  knows  very  well  that  her  heart  would 
not  bear  exposure.  Envy,  self-will,  jealousy,  pride,  often 
reign  there.  She  knows  it;  she  feels  it,  and  her  con- 
science being  still  tender,  these  sins  often  destroy  her 
peace.  Tell  her  that  divine  grace  will  help  her  to  sub- 
due these,  her  enemies.  She  sometimes  looks  forward 
to  future  life,  and  sighs  to  think  how  soon  it  will  pass 
away.  Tell  her  that  piety  will  dispel  the  darkness  that 
hangs  over  the  grave,  and  open  immortality  to  her  view. 
She  thinks  of  future  trials  and  difficulties  and  dangers, 
with  dread.  Tell  her  that  the  Savior  is  ready  to  guide 
her  and  be  her  friend;  to  protect  and  bless  her  at  all 


112  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  4. 

Apparent  allcnliun.  lieal  iiidifll'rcnce.  Almost  a  Clirislian. 

times,  to  give  her  employment,  and  to  be  her  reward. 
Spread  the  whole  subject  out  before  her,  and  urge  her 
to  come  and  give  herself  up  to  God  and  save  her  soul. 
She  listens  to  you  with  respectful,  and  perhaps  even 
with  pleased  attention.  Do  not  be  deceived  by  it.  She 
is,  at  heart,  tired  and  sick  of  the  gloomy  subject.  She 
might  like  perhaps  protection  and  happiness,  but  her 
heart  revolts  against  God  and  holiness,  and  you  niiglit 
as  woll  talk  to  the  deaf  adder  as  talk  to  her. 

Or  if  her  heart  is  not  entirely  braced  uj)  and  hardened 
in  its  determination  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  God  and 
religion, —  if  she  is  really  willing  to  listen  and  to  read, 
— ^she  is  still  just  as  obstinately  determined  not  to  obey. 
She  is  called  perhaps  a  religious  inquirer.  She  reads 
the  Bible,  and  otTers  a  daily  prayer,  and  takes  an  interest 
in  religious  instruction;  but  her  secret  motive  is  to  keep 
religion  within  her  reach,  because  she  dares  not  let  it  go 
altogether.  She  is  still  determined  not  to  give  up  her- 
self to  it.  She  can  love  her  parents,  her  brothers  and 
sisters,  but  her  heart  is  cold  and  hard  against  God;  and 
do  all  you  can  to  persuade  her  to  come  out  openly  and 
honestly  and  cordially  on  his  side,  she  is  fixed,  immov- 
ably fixed,  in  refusing  to  do  it.  Her  religious  friends 
think  she  is  very  near  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  And  in 
one  sense,  she  is  near.  She  stands  at  the  very  gate  of 
the  celestial  city.  All  obstacles  are  removed:  she  can 
look  in  and  see  the  happy  mansions  and  the  golden 
streets.  The  simple  difficulty  is,  that  she  will  not  enter. 
If  you  urge  her,  she  tries  to  perplex  you  with  meta- 
physical speculations,  or  listens  in  respectful  silence,  and 
goes  away  and  continues  in  sin  exactly  as  before. 

And  thus  it  is  all  over  the  world.  There  are  many 
beautiful  moral  exhibitions  to  be  seen  here;  many 
admirable  results  ;  many  alluring  aspects  of  human 
nature.  But  after  all,  any  honest  observer  must  see, 
that  between  mankind   and  God  their  Maker,  there  is 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN   NATURE.  113 

Universal  alienation  from  God.  Dead  in  trespasses  and  sins. 

a  deep  and  settled  and  universal  disagreement.  They 
would  be  willing  that  God  should  rule  over  them,  if  he 
would  leave  them  pretty  much  to  themselves.  But  this 
he  will  not  do.  His  very  first  and  most  emphatic  com- 
mand is,  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with 

ALL    THY    HEART,   AND    THY    NEIGHBOR  AS    THYSELF;"    and 

this  they  will  not  do.  It  is  their  fixed,  their  settled,  their 
unchanging  determination  that  they  will  not  do  it. 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  call  it  a  determination;  for  it 
is  rather  a  feeling  than  a  determination, —  a  disrelish  for 
holiness  and  the  spiritual  enjoyment  of  loving  and  serv- 
ing God.  The  heart,  sensitive  as  it  is  in  regard  to  its 
own  rights  and  interests,  is  cold  and  torpid  in  regard  to 
its  Maker's  claims.  Motive  will  not  act  upon  it.  Per- 
suasion has  no  effect,  for  there  is  no  feeling  for  persua- 
sion to  take  hold  of.  Argument  does  no  good,  for  though 
you  may  convince  the  understanding  without  much  diffi- 
culty, the  heart  remains  insensible  and  cold;  — deady  as 
the  Bible  terribly  expresses  it, —  dead  in  trespasess  and 
sins.  This  coldness  and  insensibility  of  the  heart  to- 
wards God,  lead  to  all  sorts  of  sinfulness  in  conduct.  It 
takes  off*  restraint,  gives  up  the  soul  to  unholy  feelings, 
increases  the  power  of  temptation,  and  thus  leaves  the 
soul  the  habitual  slave  of  sin.  These  overt  acts  are  the 
effects,  not  the  cause,  and  he  who  hopes  to  be  morally 
renewed,  must  not  look  directly  and  mainly  to  his  moral 
conduct,  and  endeavor  to  rectify  that;  but  he  must  look 
deeper;  he  must  examine  his  heart,  and  expect  no  real 
success  which  does  not  proceed  from  the  warmth  of 
spiritual  life  springing  up  there. 

I  presume  that  a  large  portion  of  the  readers  of  this 
chapter,  will  be  persons  who  feel,  in  some  degree,  the 
value  and  the  necessity  of  piety,  and  they  are  perhaps 
actually  reading  this  book  with  a  vague  sort  of  wish  to 
meet  with  something  in  it,  which  will  help  them  to  find 
salvation      The  book  can  do  this  only  by  showing  yoa 

10* 


114  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  4. 

The  real  liiilicully.  Spiritual  blindness.  The  ungrateful  child. 

the  real  difficulty; — which  is  that  you  do  not  sincerely 
wish  for  salvation.  *'  Cease  to  do  evil,  ask  forgiveness 
in  the  name  of  Christ  for  the  evil  you  have  done,  and 
henceforth  openly  serve  God."  These  are  certainly 
directions  which  it  is  easy  for  you  to  understand,  and 
easy  to  practise.  The  difficulty  is,  a  heart  which  will  not 
comply.  There  is  a  moral  obligation  to  comply,  which 
the  understanding  admits,  but  which  the  heart  does  not 
feel;  and  a  moral  beauty  in  complying,  which  it  does  not 
perceive. 

This  is  spiritual  blindness.  And  yet,  simple  as  it 
seems,  a  large  portion,  even  of  those  who  call  them- 
selves religious  inquirers,  have  very  little  conception 
of  what  spiritual  blindness  is.  It  is  insensibility  to  spir- 
itual things,  a  dulncss  of  moral  perception,  such  that 
sin,  though  it  is  intellectually  perceived,  makes  no  im- 
pression, and  hohness,  though  the  word  is  understood, 
awakens  no  feeling  of  its  excellence  and  beauty  in  the 
heart.  I  can  best  illustrate  it  by  a  simple  case,  such  as 
parents  often  have  occasion  to  observe. 

A  noisy  boy,  three  or  four  years  old,  was  once  run- 
ning about  the  house,  disturbing  very  much,  by  his  rat- 
tling playthings  and  his  loud  outcries,  a  sick  mother,  in 
a  chamber  above  stairs.  I  called  him  to  me,  and  some- 
thing like  the  following  dialogue  ensued.* 

"  Where  is  your  mother.^" 

"  She  is  sick  up  stairs." 

"  Is  she.^  I  am  sorry  she  is  sick." 

A  pause. 

*  As  the  reader  proceeds  through  the  dialogue,  we  wish  he  would 
recollect  that  the  case  is  not  brought  forward  to  illustrate  the  gen- 
eral character  of  children.  That  is  not  our  present  subject.  The 
story  is  told  merely  to  illustrate  the  nature  of  bhndness  to  spiritual 
things;  and  though  true,  it  would  have  answered  our  purpose  just 
as  well,  if  it  had  been  entirely  imaginary.  Children  generally,  or  at 
le«i8t  often,  have  a  very  keen  sensibility  to  the  guilt  of  ingratitude. 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN    NATURE.  115 

The  dialogue.  Ingratitude.  Moral  insensibility. 

*'  Were  you  ever  sick?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  sick  once,"  said  he,  and  he  began  to 
rattle  his  little  feet  upon  the  chair,  and  to  move  about  in 
a  restless  manner,  as  if  he  wished  to  get  down. 

**  Oh  you  must  sit  still  a  moment,"  said  I,  ''  I  want 
to  talk  with  you  a  little  more.     When  were  you  sick.^" 

"  Oh,  I  dont  know." 

"  What  did  your  mother  do  for  you,  when  you  was 
sick.?" 

"  Oh  she  rocked  me  in  the  cradle." 

"  Did  she? — did  she  rock  you?  I  am  glad  she  was 
so  kind.  I  suppose  you  liked  to  be  rocked.  Did  she 
give  you  anything  to  drink?" 

''Yes  sir." 

"  Did  she  make  a  noise  to  trouble  you?" 

"  No  sir,  she  did  not  make  any  noise." 

"  Well,  she  was  very  kind  to  you.  I  think  you  ought 
to  be  kind  to  her,  now  she  is  sick.  You  cannot  rock 
her  in  the  cradle,  because  she  is  too  old  to  be  rocked, 
but  you  can  be  gentle  and  still,  and  that  she  will  like 
very  much." 

"Oh  but,"  said  the  boy  in  a  tone  of  confidence,  as 
if  what  he  was  saying  was  perfectly  conclusive  and  sat- 
isfactory, "  I  want  to  ride  my  horse  a  little  more." 

So  saying,  he  struggled  to  get  free,  that  he  might 
resume  his  noisy  sport.  Probably  nearly  all  the  parents 
who  read  this  dialogue,  will  remember,  as  they  read  it, 
many  similar  attempts  which  they  have  made,  to  lead  a 
little  child  to  'perceive  the  moral  beauty  of  gratitude,  and 
to  yield  their  hearts  to  its  influence.  But  the  child  will 
not  see  or  feel.  It  understands  the  terms; — it  remem- 
bers its  own  sickness  and  its  mother's  kindness; — it 
knows  that  its  mother  is  now  sick,  and  that  its  noisy 
plajj's  produce  inconvenience  and  suffering;  but  every 
attempt  to  lead  it  to  look  at  all  these  things  in  connexion, 
and  to  perceive  and  feel  its  own  ingratitude,  are  vain. 


116  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4, 

Spiritual  blindness.  The  horse  and  his  rider.  Insensibility, 

It  has  no  perception  of  it,  no  sensibility  to  it.  *'  I  want 
to  ride  my  horse  a  little  more,"  is  the  idea  that  fills  its 
whole  soul;  and  duty,  gratitude,  obligation  are  unfelt 
and  unseen. 

It  is  thus  with  you,  my  irreligious  reader.  Your 
heart  has  no  spiritual  perception  of  the  guilt  of  ingrati- 
tude towards  God,  and  the  moral  beauty  and  excellence 
of  obedience  to  his  law.  You  can  look  at  the  law,  at 
God's  character,  at  your  own  sins,  at  all  the  declara- 
tions of  the  Bible,  but  you  do  not  feel  their  moral  weight. 
The  carnal,  that  is,  the  worldly  mind,  does  not  know 
them,  because  they  are  spiritually  discerned. 

Objects  of  natural  beauty  may  be  seen  in  the  same 
manner,  and  yet  not  appreciated.  A  traveller  on  horse- 
back, emerges  from  the  wood,  on  the  declivity  of  a 
mountain,  and  there  suddenly  bursts  upon  his  view,  a 
widely  extended  prospect  of  fertile  valleys,  and  winding 
streams,  and  fields  waving  with  corn;  farmhouses  and 
smiling  villages  giving  life  to  the  scene.  He  stops  to 
gaze  at  it  with  delight.  His  horse  looks  at  it  too,  and 
sees  it  all  as  distinctly  as  his  rider  does.  The  fields  look 
as  green,  and  the  groves  as  shady,  and  the  streams  glis- 
ten with  as  bright  a  reflection  to  one  as  to  the  other. 
But  while  the  man  gazes  upon  it  with  emotions  of  de- 
light, the  animal  looks  idly  on,  pleased  with  nothing  but 
his  moment's  rest.  All  that  is  visible  comes  equally  to 
both;  but  beauty  is  felt,  not  seen.  Though  the  eye  may 
bring  in  those  combinations  of  form  and  color,  which 
are  calculated  to  awaken  the  emotion,  there  must  be  a 
heart  to  feel,  within, —  or  all  will  be  mere  vision; — cold, 
lifeless,  stupid,  vision. 

It  is  so  with  spiritual  perception.  You,  my  reader, 
may  understand  the  gospel  most  thoroughly, —  you  may 
have  studied  the  Bible  with  diligence  and  care,  and  may 
see  clearly  and  distinctly  all  its  truths;  but  there  is  a 
moral  and  spiritual  meaning  and  power  in  them,  to  which 


Ch.  4.}  HUMAN    NATURE.  117 


The  common  case.  Scene  at  evening.  Feeli 


ngs 


the  heart,  while  it  remains  worldly,  remains  utterly  in- 
sensible.    It  does  not  see,  it  does  not  feel  them. 

I  know  of  nothing  which  more  forcibly  illustrates  the 
cold  insensibility  of  men  to  all  that  relates  to  God  and 
holiness,  and  the  salvation  of  the  soul,  than  the  trains 
of  reflection  which  the  unsanctified  heart  falls  into, 
in  its  languid  efforts  to  bring  itself  under  religious  in- 
fluence. Let  us  take  one  case  as  a  specimen  of  tens 
of  thousands.  The  subject  is  a  moral,  upright  young 
man,  with  an  honest  respect  for  religon,  and  a  distinct 
understanding  of  its  truths.  He  has  been  taught  his 
duty  from  early  infancy,  and  has  at  length  left  his 
father's  roof,  to  come  out  into  the  world;  and  as  he  has 
not  espoused  his  Savior's  cause,  his  conscience  keeps 
up  a  perpetual  murmur,  which  makes  him  restless  and 
dissatisfied,  and  destroys  his  peace.  He  has,  all  the 
time,  a  resolution  carefully  laid  up  in  his  mind,  that  he 
will  become  a  Christian  before  long.  This  makes  him 
feel  as  though  he  was  keeping  salvation  within  his  reach, 
and  helps  a  little  to  quiet  conscience.  He  has  lately 
resumed  the  habit,  which  he  was  early  taught  to  estab- 
lish, of  reading  a  portion  of  scripture  before  he  retires  to 
rest.  This  duty  he  generally  performs,  though  in  a  cold 
and  heartless  manner,  so  that  it  does  not  in  the  least 
interfere  with  his  leading,  day  after  day,  a  life  of  irrelig- 
ion  and  sin.  In  fact  he  would  be  ashamed  to  have  it 
known  that  he  reads  the  Bible  every  day. 

He  has  just  finished  his  chapter,  and  is  sitting  in  his 
armed  chair  before  the  dying  embers  of  his  evening  fire. 
He  is  alone,  and  it  is  near  midnight.  He  walks  to  the 
window  and  looks  for  a  few  moments  into  the  clear,  cold 
sky,  and  a  slight  emotion  swells  in  his  heart,  as  he  thinks 
of  the  boundless  distance,  and  inconceivable  magnitude 
of  the  stars  he  sees  there.  The  feeling  is  mingled  with 
a  sort  of  poetic  wish  that  he  had  a  friend  in  the  mighty 
Maker  of  them      He  soon   gets   into   a  contemplative 


118  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4. 

Tke  Soliloquy.  Wanderiug  tliouglit^.  lleveriea. 

mood,  and  sits  down  again  in  his  armed  chair  l)erore  the 
fire,  wlierc  a  train  of  tiioiight  sometliing  like  the  follow- 
ing passes  in  his  mind.  I  insert  it,  not  for  its  dignity,  or 
its  good  taste,  but  because  it  is  true  to  liuman  nature. 

THE    THOUGHTFUL    SINNEU's    SOLILOqUV. 

''  Oh,  I  do  wish  I  was  a  Christian.  I  must  attend  to 
the  subject.  I  am  now  twenty-five,  and  half  mankind  do 
not  live  to  be  fifty,  so  that  probably  I  am  more  than  half 
through  life. —  I  should  like  to  know  exactly  what  my 
chance  of  life  is.  They  say  the  insurance  companies 
can  tell  exactly; — wonder  how  they  calculate. — 

"  But  I  wish  I  was  a  Christian.  I  do  not  know  how 
to  repent.  I  will  confess  all  my  sins  now,  and  try  to 
feel  penitence  tor  them.  I  will  begin  back  in  infancy. 
That  lie  I  told  to  my  father  about  the  book.  Charles 
Williams  sat  on  the  same  seat  with  me  then. —  Wonder 
where  he  is  now." 

Here  he  gets  into  a  reverie,  about  home  and  scenes  of 
childhood;  presently  he  rises  up  and  sighs,  and  begins 
to  walk  back  and  forth  across  the  floor. 

"  Oh  dear,  how  hard  it  is  to  confine  my  thoughts. 
Strange; — going  to  judgment, —  all  my  sins  recorded, — 
coming  up  against  me,  and  I  have  no  heart  to  repent  of 
them.  Can  see  them,  but  can't  feel. —  Mr.  W's  sermon 
was  not  very  clear.  I  do  not  understand  how  the  judg- 
ment will  be  arranged.  Take  a  great  deal  of  time. — 
Bible  says  Christ  will  judge  the  world. 

"  But  I  must  become  a  Christian. — And  yet  if  I  should, 
I  must  make  a  profession  of  religion. —  Very  public. — 
What  would  they  all  say.?  ." 

Here  he  stops  to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  seems 
lost,  for  a  few  moments,  in  vacancy. 

"Wonder  who  is  sick  in  that  house; — bright  light. 
How  should  I  feel  if  I  was  taken  sick  to-night,  and  knew 
I  was  going  to  die? — The  time  uill  come. 


Ch.  4.] 

,^      HUMAN    NATURE. 

119 

The  confession. 

The  cold,  formal  prayer. 

"But  my  sins. —  Let  me  see;  —  I  disobeyed  my 
father  and  mother  a  great  many  times;  I  used  to  take 
their  things  without  leave,  too. — Stealing,  that? — no, — 
not  stealing,  exactly.     Why  not?     Let  me  see. " 

He  speculates  a  few  minutes  on  this  question  of  casu- 
istry, and  then  sighs  deeply  as  he  finds  his  thoughts 
wandering  again,  and  makes  another  desperate  effort  to 
bring  them  back. 

"  Oh!  how  I  wish  I  could  really  feel  my  sins.  I 
will  pray  to  God  to  forgive  them,  and  then  go  to  bed;  I 
will  sit  down  in  my  armed  chair  and  pray. 

"  Oh  God,  look  down  in  mercy,  and  forgive  all  my  sins. 

J  confess  I  have  been  a  great  sinner /  have, /  am  a 

great  sinner, — /, (musing) — I that's  a  beautiful 

blue  flame; some  chemical  substance  in  the  coals, — 

azure (musing) O  my  God,  forgive  me,  and  enable 

me  to  repent  of  all  my  sins; — beautiful; — what  a  singu- 
lar thing  flame  is, —  distinct  shape,  but  no  substance. 

"  O!  how  my  thoughts  will  wander.  I  wish  I  could 
confine  them.  What  shall  I  do?  I  will  go  to  bed;  and 
pray  there;  posture  is  of  no  consequence." 

He  lies  down  and  begins  again  to  call  for  forgiveness, 
but  very  soon  loses  himself  in  a  dreamy  reverie,  which 
terminates  in  a  few  moments,  in  sleep. 

As  I  have  been  writing  the  above,  I  have  been  on  the 
point,  again  and  again,  of  drawing  my  pen  over  the 
whole,  as  a  wrong  species  of  composition  to  introduce 
into  such  a  work  as  this.  But  it  tells  the  truth.  Many 
of  my  readers  will  see  their  own  faces  reflected  in  it; 
for  as  in  water,  face  answereth  to  face,  so  the  heart 
of  man  to  man.  And  it  shows  the  real  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  salvation, —  a  heart  cold,  insensible  and  callous; 
unbelief  almost  entirely  darkening  the  soul,  and  pride 
destroying  the  effect  of  the  little  light  which  gains 
admission. 


120  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  4. 

Effect  of  sickness  and  suflering.  The  sick  man.  A  visit. 

The  ditliculty  seems  hopeless,  too:  that  is,  so  far  as 
human  means  will  go  towards  removing  it.  Kvery  thing 
fails.  Jn  the  hands  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  as  we  shall 
hereafter  show,  every  thing  does  indeed,  at  times,  suc- 
ceed; but  in  its  ordinary  operation,  every  means  and 
every  inihience  which  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
human  heart,  fails  of  awakening  it.  You  cannot  possibly 
have  a  stronger  case  to  present  to  men,  than  the  claims 
of  God's  law,  and  you  cannot  have  a  case  in  which 
argument,  and  eloquence,  and  instruction,  and  persua- 
sion, if  left  to  themselves,  will  be  more  utterly  useless 
and  vain.  It  is  a  common  opinion  among  men,  who  are 
aware  that  all  this  is  true  in  regard  to  tiieir  own  hearts, 
that  the  coldness  and  insensibility  which  they  feel,  will 
be  dispelled  by  some  future  providence  of  God.  They 
think  that  affliction  will  soften  them,  or  sickness  break 
the  tics  of  earth,  or  approaching  death  arouse  them  to 
vigorous  effort  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come.  But 
alas,  there  is  little  hope  here.  Affliction  does  good  to 
the  friends  of  God,  but  it  imbitters  and  hardens  his 
enemies.  Sickness  stupifies,  and  pain  distracts;  and 
approaching  death,  though  it  may  alarm  and  terrify  the 
soul  which  is  unprepared  for  it,  seldom  melts  the  heart 
to  penitence  and  love.  I  will  describe  a  case, —  it  is  a 
specimen  of  examples  so  numerous,  that  every  village 
and  neighborhood  in  our  land  might  appropriate  it,  and 
every  clergyman  who  reads  it,  might  almost  think  I  took 
it  from  his  own  journal. 

A  few  years  since,  when  spending  a  sabbath  in  a 
beautiful  country  town,  I  was  sent  for  to  visit  a  sick 
man  who  was  apparently  drawing  near  the  grave,  I 
was  told,  as  I  walked  v/ith  the  neigiibor  who  came  for 
rae,  towards  the  house  of  the  patient,  that  he  was  in  a 
melancholy  state  of  mind. 

"  He  has  been,"  said  he,  "  a  firm  believer  and  sup- 
porter of  the  truths  of  religion,   for  many  years.     He 


Ch.  4.]  HUMAN   NATURE.  121 

Conversation  by  the  way.  The  unfeeling  heart.  Consumption. 

has  been  very  much  interested  in  maintaining  religious 
worship,  and  all  benevolent  institutions;  he  has  loved  the 
sabbath  school,  and  given  his  family  every  religious  priv- 
ilege. But  he  says  he  has  never  really  given  his  heart 
to  God.  He  has  been  devoted  to  the  world,  and  even 
now^  he  says,  it  will  not  relinquish  its  hold." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  I,  "  that  he  must  die?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  he,  "he  must  die,  and  he  is  fully 
aware  of  it.  He  says  that  he  can  see  his  guilt  and  dan- 
ger, but  that  his  hard  heart  will  not  feel." 

This  is  the  exact  remark  which  is  made  in  thousands 
and  thousands  of  similar  cases,  and  in  almost  precisely 
the  same  language.  The  eyes  are  opened,  but  the  heart 
remains  unchanged. 

We  at  length  approached  the  house.  It  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  delightful  village,  and  in  one  of  those  calm, 
still,  summer  afternoons,  when  all  nature  seems  to  speak 
from  every  tree,  and  leaf,  and  flower,  of  the  goodness  of 
God;  and  to  breathe  the  spirit  of  repose  and  peace.  I 
wondered  that  a  man  could  lie  on  his  bed,  with  windows 
all  around  him  opening  upon  such  a  scene  as  this,  and 
yet  not  feel. 

As  I  entered  the  sick  room,  the  pale  and  emaciated 
patient  turned  towards  me  an  anxious  and  agitated  look, 
which  showed  too  plainly  what  was  passing  within.  It 
was  a  case  of  consumption.  His  sickness  had  been  long 
and  lingering,  as  if  by  the  gradual  manner  in  which  he 
had  been  draun  away  from  life,  God  had  been  endeav- 
oring to  test  by  experiment,  the  power  of  approaching 
death  to  draw  the  heart  towards  him.  His  strength  was 
now  almost  gone,  and  he  lay  gasping  for  the  breath 
which  his  wasted  lungs  could  not  receive.  His  eye 
moved  with  a  quick  and  anxious  glance  around  the 
room,  saying,  by  its  expression  of  bright  intelligence, 
that  the  mind  retained  undiminished  power. 

I  tried  to  bring  to  his  case,  those  truths  which  I  thought 
11 


122  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

Hopeless  condition.  Character  of  the  Deity. 

calculated  to  influence  him,  and  lead  him  to  tlie  Savior; 
but  he  knew  all  that  I  could  tell  him,  and  I  learned 
from  his  replies,  given  in  panting  whispers,  that  relig- 
ious truth  had  heen  trying  its  whole  strength  upon  him 
all  his  life,  and  tiiat  in  presenting  it  to  him  again  now,  I 
was  only  attempting  once  more,  an  experiment,  which 
had  been  repeated  in  vain,  almost  every  day,  for  forty 
years.  I  saw  the  utter  hopelessness  of  effort,  and  stood 
by  his  bed-side  in  silent  despair.     He  died  that  night. 

My  reader,  if  your  heart  is  cold  and  hard  towards 
God,  abandon  all  hope  that  the  alarm  and  anxiety  of  a 
death-bed  will  change  it.  Seek  moral  renewal  and  for- 
giveness now. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PUNISHMENT. 
OR  THE  CONSEaUENCES   OF   HUiMAN  GUILT. 
"  He  will  miserably  destroy  those  wicked  men." 

There  are  perhaps  one  thousand  millions  of  men  upon 
the  earth  at  this  time,  of  which  probably  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  millions  entertain  the  feelings  towards 
God  which  are  described  in  the  last  chapter,  and  act  ac- 
cordingly. The  question  at  once  arises,  what  will  God 
do  with  them. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  recollect,  that  in  the  first 
chapter  of  this  work,  when  considering  the  character  of 
the  Deity,  we  found  that  one  of  its  most  prominent  traits, 
is  determined  decision  in  the  execution  of  law.  This  is 
a  trait  which  shows  itself  as  conspicuously  in  all  nature 
around  us,  as  it  does  in  the  declarations  of  the  Bible; 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  123 

Efliciency  in  government.  Different  estimates  of  it. 

but  one  which  unfortunately  is  not  very  popular  in  this 
world.  Efficiency  in  government  is  popular  or  unpop- 
ular according  to  the  character  of  the  individual  who 
judges  of  it.  An  efficient  administration  secures  protec- 
tion and  happiness  to  the  good,  but  to  the  bad,  it  brings 
suffering,  and  perhaps  destruction.  It  is  natural,  there- 
fore, that  the  latter  should  be  very  slow  to  praise  the 
justice  which  they  fear;  and  in  this  world,  there  is  so 
large  a  portion  upon  whom  God's  efficiency  as  a  moral 
Governor  will  bear  very  heavily,  that  the  whole  subject 
is  exceedingly  unpopular  among  mankind. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  men's  estimates  of  the 
same  conduct  vary  according  to  the  way  in  which  they 
are  themselves  to  be  affected  by  it;  for  nothing  is  more 
admired  and  applauded  among  men,  than  efficiency  in 
the  execution  of  law,  in  all  cases  where  they  are  them- 
selves safe  from  its  penalties.  There  have  been  great 
disputes  in  respect  to  the  bounds  which  ought  to  be  as- 
signed to  political  governments,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
degree  of  power  which  the  magistrate  ought  to  possess. 
But  within  these  bounds, —  in  the  exercise  of  this  power, 
— every  body  admires  and  praises  firmness,  energy  and 
inflexible  decision.  Nobody  objects  except  the  criminal 
who  has  to  suffer  for  the  safety  of  the  rest.  He  always 
protests  against  it. 

About  fifty  years  ago  an  English  clergyman  of  elevat- 
exi  rank  and  connexions,  and  of  high  literary  reputation, 
committed  forgery.  The  law  of  England  says  that  the 
forger  must  die.  Now  England  is  a  highly  commercial 
country,  and  all  the  transactions  of  business  there,  con- 
nected with  the  employment,  and  the  sustenance  and  the 
property  of  millions  and  millions,  entirely  depend  upon 
confidence  in  the  truth  of  a  written  signature.  Destroy 
the  general  confidence  in  the  identity  of  a  man's  hand- 
writing in  signing  his  name,  and  all  the  business  of  the 
island  would  be  embarrassed  or  stopped,  and  universal 


124  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  5. 

Severe  pimisluneiit.  Necessity  for  it.  Alternative. 

confusion,  distress  and  ruin  would  follow  in  a  day.  The 
man  therefore,  who  counterfeits  a  signature  in  such  a 
country,  points  his  dagger  at  the  very  vital  organs  of 
society. 

The  law  of  England  does  right,  therefore,  in  affixing  a 
very  severe  penalty  to  the  crime  of  forgery,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  revenging  itself  on  the  hapless  criminal,  but 
for  the  sake  of  protecting  that  vast  amount  of  property, 
and  those  millions  of  lives,  which  are  dependant  upon  the 
general  confidence  in  the  writing  of  a  name.  It  is  a  sad 
thing  for  a  clergyman  of  refined  and  cultivated  mind  to 
pass  through  the  scenes  which  such  a  law  prepared  for 
him.  Consternation,  when  detected;  long  hours  of  tor- 
turing suspense,  before  his  trial;  indescribable  suffering 
when,  on  being  brought  to  the  bar,  he  saw  the  proof 
brought  out,  step  by  step,  clearly  against  him,  and  wit- 
nessed the  unavailing  efforts  of  his  counsel  to  make  good 
his  defence;  and  the  sinking  of  spirit,  like  death  itself, 
while  the  judge  pronounced  the  sentence  which  sealed 
his  awful  fate.  Then  he  is  remanded  to  prison,  to  spend 
some  days  or  weeks  in  uninterrupted  and  indescribable 
agony,  until  his  faculties  become  bewildered  and  over- 
powered by  the  influence  of  horror  and  despair;  and  he 
walks  out  at  last,  pale,  trembling,  and  haggard  in  look, 
to  finish  his  earthly  sufferings  by  the  convulsive  struggles 
of  death.  Sad  consequences  these,  we  admit,  although 
they  come  only  upon  one;  —  and  all  for  just  affixing 
another  man's  name  to  a  piece  of  paper,  without  any 
intention  of  defrauding  anybody!  For  it  is  highly  prob- 
able that  in  this  case,  as  in  many  similar  ones,  the  crimi- 
nal meant,  in  mercantile  language,  to  have  taken  up  the 
paper  before  it  fell  due.  In  fact  he  must  have  designed 
this,  for  this  would  be  the  only  way  to  escape  certain 
detection.  Awful  results,  we  admit,  for  a  sin  so  quick- 
ly, and  so  thoughtlessly  committed;  but  not  so  sad  as  it 
would  be  to  let  the  example  go  on, — until  the  frequency 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  125 

Consequences  of  yielding  to  crime.  Public  sentiment.         ,    Petitions. 

of  forgery  should  destroy  all  mutual  confidence  between 
man  and  man,  and  business  be  stopped,  and  millions  of 
families  be  reduced  to  beggary.  Better  that  here  and 
there  a  violator  of  the  law  should  suffer  its  penalties,  than 
that  the  foundations  of  society  should  be  sapped,  and  the 
whole  structure  tumble  into  ruin.  The  question,  there- 
fore, for  the  government  of  that  island,  was  simply  this; 
will  you  be  firm,  notwithstanding  individual  suffering,  in 
executing  the  law,  or  will  you  yield,  and  take  the  conse- 
quences ?  If  you  yield,  you  open  the  flood-gates  of  crime 
and  suffering  upon  the  country;  and  there  will  be  no 
place  to  stop,  if  you  once  give  way  to  crime,  till  the  land 
becomes  one  wide-spread  scene  of  desolation, —  famine 
raging  in  every  hamlet, — banditti  lurking  in  the  valleys 
or  riding  in  troops  upon  the  highways — and  wretched 
mothers  with  their  starving  babes,  roaming  through  the 
streets  of  desolated  London,  in  a  fruitless  search  for  food. 
That  was  the  question;  and  the  energetic  government 
of  the  country  understood  it  so.  The  unhappy  criminal 
gave  every  indication  of  penitence.  He  was  universally 
believed  to  be  truly  penitent  then,  and  is  universally  be- 
lieved to  have  been  so,  now.  All  England  too,  with  one 
voice,  sent  in  earnest  petitions  for  his  pardon.  But  it 
was  in  vain.  The  British  ministry  understood  their  duty 
better,  and  though  it  was  perhaps  as  painful  a  duty  as  a 
government  ever  had  to  discharge,  they  were  firm,  un- 
yielding to  the  last.  They  gave  him  neither  pardon  nor 
reprieve;  and  though  they  would  probably  have  submit- 
ted to  almost  any  personal  suffering,  to  save  him,  they 
were  compelled  to  leave  him  to  drink  to  the  full,  the  bit- 
ter consequences  of  his  sin. 

There  were  thousands  and  thousands  of  petitioners  in 
his  favor,  overcome  by  compassion  for  the  man.  The  tide 
of  popular  feeling  was  altogether  against  the  government 
then,  for  men  generally  are  weak  minded,  ineflicient, 
yielding,  when  the  performance  of  duty  is  painful.  But 
11* 


126  THE    CORNER-STOKE.  [Ch.    6. 

Public  sentiini'iit  wow.     Imparliulity.     Opinions  influenced  by  character. 

since  the  time  has  gone  hy,  and  the  momentary  weak- 
ness of  tlic  occasion  has  passed  away,  there  has  been 
as  strong  a  tide  of  pubhc  approbation  in  their  favor. 
In  fact  this  so  conspicuous  and  so  terrible  a  case  of 
sin  and  suffering,  has  made  a  permanent  impression,  not 
only  upon  England,  but  upon  the  whole  civilized  world. 
Every  man  feels  it.  lie  may  not  trace  back  the  feeling 
to  its  origin,  but  it  is  undoubtedly,  in  a  very  great  degree, 
owing  to  this,  and  precisely  similar  transactions,  that 
that  distinct,  that  almost  indelible  impression  has  been 
made  upon  the  community,  and  is  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation,  which  connects  in  every  mind, 
such  strong  and  mysterious  associations  of  sacredness 
with  the  signature  of  the  written  name.  From  that  day 
to  this,  every  writer  who  has  commented  upon  the  trans- 
action, while  he  has  many  expressions  of  sympathy  for 
the  suffering,  has  a  far  more  emphatic  tribute  of  praise 
for  the  inflexible  firmness  and  decision  which  refused  to 
relieve  it. 

Undoubtedly  all  my  readers  see  this  in  the  same  light. 
We  are,  in  a  great  measure,  incapacitated  from  regarding 
some  transactions,  analogous  to  this,  in  a  correct  man- 
ner, on  account  of  their  coming  too  near  to  ourselves; — 
but  this  one  can  be  understood ;  its  moral  bearings  and 
relations  are  seen  as  they  are,  without  distortion;  and 
the  simple  fact  which  enables  us  to  take  the  view  of  this 
subject  which  truth  and  justice  present,  is  this,  —  we 
have  not  committed  forgery  ourselves.  Suppose  there 
had  been  in  the  prison  where  this  unhappy  criminal  was 
confined,  a  room  full  of  other  forgers,  and  their  opinion 
had  been  asked  about  the  justice  or  the  necessity  of 
condemning  him.  Could  they  be  made  to  understand 
it.''  No;  they  would  be  vociferous  in  their  outcries  at  the 
unjust  severity  of  inflicting  such  protracted  and  terrible 
suffering  for  so  little  a  sin.  We  however  can  understand 
it,  for  we  are  impartial  observers      We  have  not  com- 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  127 

Points  illustrated.  Time  spent  in  sin.  Fifteen  seconds. 

mitted  the  crime,  and  we  consequently  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  sustaining  the  law.  We  rather  see  the  value 
of  an  efficient  administration  of  justice,  in  the  protection 
it  affords  to  our  rights,  and  the  addition  it  makes  to  our 
happiness.  I  have  accordingly  taken  this  case  to  pre- 
sent to  my  readers,  to  illustrate  four  or  five  points,  which 
we  can  see  more  plainly  than  when  we  look  at  them  di- 
rectly in  the  government  of  God.  As  I  enumerate  the 
points  which  such  a  case  illustrates,  let  the  reader  listen 
to  the  voice  of  reason  and  conscience  within,  and  he 
will  find  that  it  testifies  in  their  favor. 

1.  The  time  spent  in  committing  the  sin,  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  just  duration  of  the  punishment  of  it.  It 
took  Dr.  Dodd  fifteen  seconds,  to  write  Lord  Chester- 
field's name.  He  suffered  indescribable  agony  for  many 
months,  and  was  then  blotted  from  existence  for  it.  He 
would  have  lived  perhaps  forty  years.  So  that  here,  for 
a  sin  of  fifteen  seconds,  justice  took  forty  years  in  pen- 
alty. She  took  more;  for  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  exchanged  death  for  forty  years  of  exile  and  suffer- 
ing.    In  fact  he  petitioned  for  such  a  commutation. 

Some  one  may  say  that  I  fix  too  small  a  time  for  the 
commission  of  the  sin; — that  he  spent  many  hours  and 
perhaps  days  in  devising  his  plans,  and  practising  his 
counterfeit  signature,  and  getting  his  bond  drawn,  and 
that  his  guilt  was  extended  over  all  these.  His  guilt 
was,  to  be  sure,  but  he  was  not  .punished  for  guilt.  He 
was  punished  for  crime.  If  the  last  fatal  act  had  not 
been  performed,  he  would  not  have  committed  any  of- 
fence against  human  law.  God  might  have  punished 
him,  but  man  would  not; — so  that,  strictly  and  fairly, 
the  fifteen  seconds  spent  in  delineating  the  letters  of  his 
pupil's  name,  was  the  whole.  For  a  sin  of  fifteen  seconds, 
then,  there  followed  a  penalty  worse  than  suffering  for 
forty  years,  and  mankind  have,  by  common  consent,  from 
that  day  to  this,  pronounced  the  punishment  just 


128  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5 

Dad  intentions.  Immediate  consequences.  Inconsiderateness. 

2.  Desert  of  punislunent  does  not  depend  upon  inten- 
tion to  do  injury.  The  forger  in  this  case,  Imd  not  the 
least  intention  of  doing  injury.  He  could  not  have  had 
such  an  intention,  for  Lord  Chesterfield  could  not  have 
been  called  upon  to  pay  the  bond  without  causing  instant 
detection.  This  fact  however  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  go  free.  The  question  was  not  what  injury  he 
intended  to  commit,  but  what  injury  really  would  fallow, 
if  his  crime  should  go  unpunished. 

3.  Desert  of  punishment  does  not  depend  upon  the 
immediate  consequences  of  the  sin.  The  evil  of  sin 
consists  not  in  the  direct  injury  of  the  single  transgres- 
sion, but  in  the  ruinous  effects  to  the  community,  when 
it  is  allowed  to  go  unpunished.  The  only  direct  injury 
which  could  have  resulted  from  this  crime  was  the  loss 
of  £  4000  by  one  individual.  Fifty  times  that  sum  might 
probably  have  been  raised  to  save  his  life,  but  it  would 
have  been  unavailing.  He  was  executed,  not  for  put- 
ting to  hazard  the  £  4000,  but  for  endangering  the  vital 
interests  of  an  immense  community.  The  £4000  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  It  would  have  been  the 
same,  if  it  had  been  £40.  The  sin  was  thaforgerij,  not 
the  endangering  of  four  thousand  pounds. 

Men  are  always  estimating  their  guilt,  by  the  time 
employed  in  committing  the  sin,  or  by  the  direct  conse- 
quences resulting  from  it;  and  fancy  they  deserve  but 
little  punishments,  because  they  think  that  their  trans- 
gressions have  occupied  but  little  time,  and  can  of  them- 
selves do  no  great,  immediate  injury, 

4.  Desert  of  punishment  does  not  depend  upon  the 
degree  of  distinctness  with  which  the  consequences  are 
foreseen.  The  criminal  here,  had  no  idea  that  he  was 
involving  himself  in  such  dreadful  difficulty;  but  this  in- 
consideration  was  no  admissible  plea. 

Hearts  in  this  world  which  give  themselves  up  to  sin, 
are  unconcerned  about  its  guilt,  and  have  no  idea  of  the 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  129 

Object  of  punishment.  Not  revenge.  floral  impression. 

awful  consequences  which  are  to  ensue;    but  this  will 
not, —  cannot  alter  those  consequences. 

5.  The  object  of  punishment  is  not  revenge  against 
the  individual.  Nobody  felt  any  sentiment  of  revenge 
against  the  individual  here.  There  was  one  common 
and  universal  effort  to  save  him, —  and  that  by  the  very 
community  which  alone  could  suffer  injury  from  his 
crime.  The  government  would  most  gladly  have  par- 
doned him,  if  they  could  have  done  it  safely.  No  one 
wanted  him  to  suffer.  The  only  reason  for  it  was,  that 
the  suffering  of  the  criminal  in  such  a  case,  can  alone 
arrest  the  consequences  of  the  sin.  In  many  and  many 
an  instance,  has  the  chief  magistrate  of  a  state  had  the 
strength  of  his  moral  principle  tried  to  the  utmost,  by 
the  importunities  of  a  whole  community,  and  more  than 
all  the  rest,  of  the  wretched  wife  and  children  of  the 
criminal.  A  weak  man,  in  such  a  case,  will  yield.  His 
desire  to  save  individual  suffering,  will  induce  him  to 
take  a  step  which  will  hazard  all  that  society  holds  most 
dear.  Instead  of  any  feelings  of  resentment  against  the 
individual  to  urge  him  on,  there  is  a  deep  emotion  of 
compassion  for  him,  to  keep  him  back;  so  that  if  he  is 
firm  and  does  his  duty,  it  must  be  because  moral  princi- 
ple carries  him  forward,  against  the  strong  tide  of  feel- 
ing with  which  his  heart  pleads  for  the  life  of  a  fellow 
creature. 

So  with  God.  If  any  of  us  should  be  so  happy,  as, 
afler  finishing  our  pilgrimage  in  this  vale  of  tears,  to  be 
admitted  to  the  happy  home  in  the  skies,  God  will  as- 
suredly protect  us  for  ever  from  the  sins  and  the  sinners 
which  have  brought  so  much  misery  here.  He  will  be 
firm  and  unyielding,  in  the  execution  of  his  law;  but  he 
will  feel  for  the  sufferings  he  must  not  relieve.  He 
takes  no  pleasure  in  the  death  of  the  wicked. 

6.  The  object  of  punishment  on  the  other  hand,  is, 
a  moral   impression  upon  the  community,  designed  to 


130  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

The  petition.  Satisfying  justice.  Dr.  Juhiison. 

arrest  the  ruinous  consequences  of  the  sin.  We  have 
seen  under  the  last  lieiul,  that  it  is  not  resentment  against 
the  individual.  The  forger  knew  it  was  not,  in  his  case, 
resentment  that  stood  in  the  way  of  his  pardon;  and  in 
his  petitions,  he  made  no  effort  to  remove  any  feeling 
against  him  personally,  but  to  show  how  the  necessary 
moral  impression  might  be  made  witliout  his  death.  The 
following  paragraph  from  a  petition  he  offered  to  the 
king,  shows  this. 

"  I  confess  the  crime,  and  own  the  enormity  of  its 
consequences,  and  the  danger  of  its  example.  jN'or  have 
I  the  confidence  to  petition  for  impunity;  but  humbly 
hope,  that  public  security  may  be  established,  without  the 
spectacle  of  a  clergyman  dragged  through  the  streets 
to  a  death  of  infamy,  amidst  the  derision  of  the  profligate 
and  profane:  and  that  justice  may  be  satisfied  with  irre- 
vocable exile,  perpetual  disgrace,  and  hopeless  penury." 

It  is  evident  from  this,  what  object  the  petitioner  sup- 
posed it  to  be,  which  required  his  death.  And  in  his 
effort  to  avoid  death,  his  plan  was  to  show  that  the  proper 
moral  impression  might  be  made  on  the  community  with- 
out it,  so  as,  in  his  own  words,  ''to  establish  the  public 
security^' — "to  satisfy  justice ;^^  expressions  which  are 
almost  precisely  those  used  by  religious  writers  in  de- 
scribing God's  design  in  punishing  sin,  and  which  are 
spurned  by  the  disbelievers  in  a  judgment  to  come,  as 
expressions  having  no  meaning,  or  else  signifying  some- 
thing unjust  or  absurd.  "  To  satisfy  justice;'^ — a  meta- 
phorical expression  certainly,  but  one  which  any  man 
can  understand  if  he  will.  The  great  English  philolo- 
gist, for  it  was  Dr.  Johnson  who  penned  this  petition  for 
the  unhappy  criminal,  will  hardly  be  charged  with  using 
under  such  circumstances,  unmeaning,  or  unintelligible 
language.  If  the  man  had  been  pardoned,  a  violence 
would  have  been  done  to  the  sense  of  justice  which 
reigns  in  every  man's  bosom,  which  would  have  worked 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  13l 

Salvation  by  Christ.         Penitence.         Its  power  in  averting  punishment, 

incalculable  injury.  It  would  have  undermined  the  au- 
thority of  law,  and  brought  down  the  standard  of  moral 
obligation,  and  every  man  would  have  felt,  as  soon  as 
the  excitement  of  the  occasio^i  was  past,  that  the  firm 
foundations  of  commercial  confidence  throughout  the 
empire,  had  been  rendered  insecure. 

The  object  then,  in  endeavoring  to  procure  pardon, 
was  to  devise  some  way  to  prevent  these  evils,  without 
the  death  of  the  criminal,  —  some  way  to  satisfy  justice, 
—  and  sustain  law,  —  and  make  the  moral  impression, 
which  the  government  well  knew  would  be  made  by  the 
destruction  of  the  man.  No  such  way  could  be  found, 
and  the  poor  criminal  had  to  submit  to  his  fate. 

What  this  poor  sufferer's  learned  and  eloquent  advo- 
cate failed  to  find,  for  him,  Jesus  Christ  our  Savior  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  for  us; — a  way  by  which  to  satisfy 
justice,  and  sustain  law,  and  make  a  moral  impression, 
which  should  arrest  the  sad  consequences  of  guilt,  and 
render  it  safe  that  we  should  be  forgiven.  We  shall 
consider  this  however  more  fully  in  the  sequel. 

7.  The  necessity  of  punishment  is  not  diminished 
by  the  penitence  of  the  sinner.  All  mankind  know 
and  admit  this,  excepting  in  their  own  case.  Then 
they  always  have  an  undefined,  but  a  fixed  impression 
that  penitence  settles  the  whole  difficulty.  There  is 
perhaps,  as  great  evidence  of  this  forger's  penitence, 
as  there  can  be,  in  such  a  case;  but  penitence,  how- 
ever deep  and  however  sincere,  could  have  no  power 
to  arrest  the  consequences  which  the  community  must 
suffer  from  unpunished  crime.  If  the  gratification  of 
personal  resentment  against  the  criminal  had  been  the 
reason  for  insisting  on  the  penalty  of  violated  law,  then 
repentance  would  have  been  a  valid  plea,  as  it  would 
have  removed  all  personal  resentment,  and  turned  hu- 
man sympathy  in  his  favor.  Repentance  always  in- 
creases the  desire  to  forgive,  but  it  never  of  itself  opens 


132  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5. 

It  makes  pardon  tle»:irable.  Application  of  principles. 

the  way.  That  is  tlie  distinction.  I  repeat  it;  it  does 
a  great  deal  towards  making  pardon  desirable;  but  alone, 
it  does  nothing  towards  making  it  safe.  That  is,  it 
does  notliing  towards  making  tiiat  impression  on  the 
community  which  the  connexion  of  crime  with  sullering 
always  makes,  and  which  is  necessary  in  order  to  arrest 
the  ruinous  consequences  of  sin.  If,  then,  the  question 
of  pardon  came  up  at  all,  in  the  British  cabinet,  the 
stronger  the  evidence  was,  that  the  criminal  was  sorry 
for  his  sin,  the  more  painful  would  the  duty  of  insisting 
on  justice  be;  but  the  necessity  of  performing  the  duty, 
would  remain  unchanged. 

We  have  taken  this  case,  because  it  is  well  known, 
and  because  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  from  that 
day  to  this,  has  pronounced  but  one  decision  upon  it. 
The  inferences  which  we  have  drawn  out  from  it,  might 
be  almost  equally  well  illustrated  by  any  case  of  sin  and 
punishment,  which  takes  place  in  any  government,  pa- 
rental or  political.  These  truths  are  so  plain,  that  no 
man  can  or  will  deny  them,  excepting  in  his  own  case,  or 
in  some  case  which  comes  so  near  him  as  to  bias  his  feel- 
ings. They  are  the  principles  which  the  Bible  declares 
will  guide  Jehovah  in  his  administration.  The  punish- 
ment due  to  trangression  will  not  be  regulated  by  the 
briefness  of  the  time  spent  in  the  commission  of  the  sin; 

—  it  will  not  be  measured  by  the  smallness  of  the  imme- 
diate injury;  — the  sinner  may  have  had  no  intention  to 
invade  the  peace  and  happiness  of  God's  great  family; 

—  he  may  have  been  entirely  unaware  of  the  conse- 
quences which  were  to  follow;  —  he  may  be  overwhelm- 
ed with  consternation  and  sorrow  when  he  finds  what 
the  bitter  fruits  must  be: — he  may  offer  reparation,  a 
hundred  fold;  —  but  all  in  vain.  Even  repentance,  sin- 
cere and  humble  repentance,  will  be  insufficient  to  save 
him.  For  it  is  not  personal  resentment  against  the  indi- 
vidual, nor  desire  to  repair  the  immediate  injury  effected 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  133 

Nature  and  effects  of  sin.      Cock  fighting.      War.      Spiritual  blindness. 

by  the  specific  sin,  which  leads  to  the  infliction  of  the 
penalty.  If  it  were,  repentance  would  remove  the  one, 
and  a  comparatively  slight  effort,  effect  the  other.  But 
it  is  not  these.  It  is  that  sin,  that  evil  and  bitter  thing, 
wherever  it  comes,  blights,  and  destroys.  Just  so  far 
as  it  gains  admission  into  God's  dominions,  peace  and 
happiness  fly, —  harmony  is  broken  up, —  man  hates  and 
oppresses  his  fellow  man,  and  all  conspire  against  God. 
We  feel  not  its  miseries  and  its  horrors  because  we  have 
become  hardened  to  them,  and  the  heart  is  stupid  and 
insensible  to  guilt  in  which  it  is  itself  involved. 

Men  see  and  understand  guilt  a  little  sometimes,  when 
it  starts  upon  them  in  some  new  and  unexpected  form, 
while  they  are  entirely  blind  to  far  greater  enormities 
which  they  have  themselves  assisted  to  make  common. 
The  whole  city  of  Boston  was  shocked    a  few  months 
since,  by  the  disclosure  of  a  scene  of  vice  and  cruelty, 
which  was  to  the  mass  of  the  inhabitants,   a  new  and 
unusal  form  of  sin.     It  was  cock  fighting.     Cruel,  unre- 
lenting wretches  prepared  their  victims  for  the  contest,  by 
sawing  off  their  natural  spurs,  and  fastening  deadlier  ones 
of  steel  upon  the  bleeding  trunks.     Then,  having  forced 
the  innocent   animals,  to  a  quarrel,  by  thrusting    their 
beaks  into  each  others  faces,  till  they  provoked  them  to 
anger,  they  sat  around  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  their 
combat.     The  whole  community  was  shocked  by  it,  for 
this  was  sin  in  a  new  and  unexpected  form,  and  one  in 
which  they  had  not  themselves  personally  partaken.     But 
when  the  same  experiment,  precisely,  is  tried  with  men, 
the  world  looks  on  calmly  and  unmoved.     Military  lead- 
ers bring  human  beings  together  by  thousands,  men  who 
have  no  quarrel,  and  would  gladly  live  in  peace.     They 
drive  them  up  together  front  to  front,  and  having  armed 
them  with  weapons,  of  torture  and  death,  which  nature 
never  furnished,  they  succeed,  half  by  compulsion,  and 
half  by  malicious  art,  in  getting  the  first  blows  struck, 
12 


134  THE    CORNEU-STOXE.  [Ch.  5. 

Human  insensibility  to  sin.  Tiircutened  deHtruction. 

and  the  first  blood  flowing,  as  a  means  of  bringing  the 
angry  passions  of  the  combatants  into  play.  This  they 
call  getting  the  men  engaged!  There  is  no  tronble  after 
this.  Tile  work  goes  on: — a  work  of  unutterable  horror. 
The  blood,  the  agony,  the  thirst,  the  groans  which 
follow,  are  nothing.  It  is  the  raging  fires  of  hatred, 
anger,  revenge,  and  furious  passion,  which  nerve  every 
arm,  and  boil  in  every  heart,  and  with  which  thousands 
upon  thousands  pour  in  crowds  into  the  presence  of  their 
Maker; — these  are  what  constitute  the  real  horrors  of  a 
battle-field.  And  what  do  mankind  say  to  this?  Why  a 
few  christian  moralists  feebly  remonstrate,  but  the  great 
mass  of  men  gather  around  the  scene  as  near  as  they  can 
get  to  it,  by  history  and  description,  and  admire  the  sys- 
tematic arrangements  of  the  battle,  and  watch  the  pro- 
gress, and  the  manoeuvres  of  the  hostile  armies,  as  they 
would  the  changes  in  a  game  of  chess: — and  were  it  not 
for  the  flying  bullet,  they  would  throng  around  the  scene 
in  person.  But  when  it  comes  to  sawing  off  the  spurs 
of  a  game  cock,  and  exasperating  him  against  his  fellow, 
—  oh!  that  is  shocking  cruelty: — that  they  cannot  bear! 
We  do  not  realize  the  nature,  and  the  effects  of  any 
sin,  when  we  have  been  long  habituated  to  it,  nor  per- 
ceive that  guilt,  in  which  we  are  personally  involved. 
But  this  will  not  alter  the  case.  God  will  cherish  no 
personal  resentment  against  sinners,  and  no  wish  to  put 
them  to  suffering.  But  the  awful  consequences  of  sin 
ennong  his  creatures  must  be  stopped: — and  in  order  to 
stop  it,  the  wretched  souls  who  choose  it  for  their  portion 

MUST  BE  DESTROYED. 

Destroyed.''  It  is  a  strong  expression,  but  God  has 
chosen  it.  We  take  it  from  his  word,  and  we  may  not 
use  a  gentler  one,      "All  the  wicked  will  he  destroy." 

"The  Lord  Jesus  shall  be  revealed  from  heaven  with 
his  mighty  angels. 

"  In  flaming  fire  taking  vengeance  on  them  that  know 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  135 

The  alternative.  Open  unbelief.  Indifference. 

not  God,  and  that  obey  not  the  gospel  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ; 

"Who  shall  be  punished  with  everlasting  destruction 
from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and  from  the  glory  of  his 
power:  " 

Destruction!  It  is  a  word  in  regard  to  which  all  com- 
ment is  useless,  and  all  argument  vain.  Perverted  in- 
genuity might  modify,  and  restrain  even  such  expressions 
as  eternal,  and  everlasting,  hut  destruction, — it  bids  de- 
fiance to  cavilling:  it  extinguishes  hope.  Everlasting 
destruction!  We  are  left  to  the  single  alternative  of 
admitting  the  terrible  truth,  or  positively  refusing  to 
take  God's  word. 

Of  this  alternative,  men  take  different  sides.  They 
who  are  determined  to  live  in  vice  and  sin,  openly  deny 
God's  declaration.  Reasoning  with  them  is  useless.  Can 
you  expect  to  find  any  words  plainer  than  "everlasting 
destruction? ''  No:  the  difficulty  is  with  the  heart:  Till 
this  is  touched,  demonstration  is  useless: — but  then, 
when  the  conscience  is  awakened,  and  the  heart  feels,  the 
difficulty  is  over: — doubts  about  the  Judgment  to  come, 
vanish  like  the  dew. 

This  open  contradiction  of  the  word  of  God,  is,  how- 
ever, perhaps  a  smaller  evil  than  the  lurking,  secret  un- 
belief which  reigns  in  almost  every  heart.  The  number 
who  openly  deny  what  God  declares,  in  regard  to  the 
desert  and  the  punishment  of  sin,  is  very  small;  but  the 
number  of  those  who  really,  and  from  their  hearts  believe 
it,  is,  very  probably,  smaller  still.  Between  these  two  ex- 
tremes lie  the  vast  majority  of  the  human  race, — asleep; 
too  faithless  to  believe,  and  too  stupid  and  indifferent  to 
take  the  trouble  to  deny.  They  do  not  reason  aloud 
about  it,  but  there  is  a  lurking  feeling  in  their  hearts, 
that  they  have  been  sinners  only  for  a  little  time;  they 
have,  they  think,  no  malicious  intentions,  no  direct  hatred 
of  God;  their  guilt  is  that  of  thoughtlessness  and  inad- 


136  THE    CORNER-STONE  [Ch.  5. 

Mistaken  views.      The  guilt  of  sinning  against  (iod.      Case  of  the  child, 

vcrtcncc,  and  the  mischief  is  sliglit,  wliich  immediately 
follows.  Many  a  young  person  secretly  reasons  thus, 
after  spending  years  in  decided  and  determined  neglect 
of  God.  Tiie  plea  he  puts  in,  is  just  the  same  as  if  the 
forger  had  urged  in  his  petition  for  pardon,  that  it  took 
him  only  fifteen  seconds  to  commit  the  crime,  that  he 
had  no  malicious  intentions  towards  the  community  in 
committing  it,  and  that  the  sum  which  was  hazarded, 
was  only  four  thousand  pounds.  He  caimot,  he  infers, 
deserve  death  for  this.  He  overlooks  altogether  the  wide- 
spread evils  that  would  desolate  the  whole  community, 
should  the  work  he  thus  begins,  be  allowed  to  go  on. 

So  the  sinner,  a  child  of  ten  years  old,  who  has  Hved 
a  comparatively  amiable  and  harmless  life,  wonders  what 
there  can  be  in  his  life  and  character,  deserving  of  the 
terrific  retribution  which  God  has  denounced.  I  will 
tell  you,  what  it  is,  my  child.  It  is  not  the  length  of  the 
ten  years,  during  which  you  have  been  living  in  sin. 
That  is  nothing.  It  is  not  the  inconvenience  and  suffer- 
ing you  have  occasioned  your  parents.  If  you  had  been 
to  them,  during  all  this  time,  an  unceasing  source  of  pain 
and  anxiety,  it  would  be  comparatively  nothing.  It  is 
not  the  injury  you  have  often  done  your  playmates  by 
your  guilty  passions;  if  that  injury  had  been  ten  times  as 
frequent,  and  ten  times  as  great  as  it  has  been,  it  would 
be  comparatively  nothing.  It  is  not  that  you  have  direct- 
ly opposed  and  hated  God;  I  admit  that  you  have  had 
no  distinctly  malicious  intention:  and  if  you  had,  it  would 
not  have  materially  altered  the  case.  It  is,  however,  thai 
there  is  a  great  controversy  going  on,  whether  God  shall 
reign  or  not  among  the  beings  he  has  made,  when  notb- 
inf^  but  his  reign  can  save  them  from  universal  disorder 
and  misery,  and  from  becoming  the  victims  of  every  kind 
of  guilt.  The  progress  of  sin,  therefore,  must  be  stop- 
ped. At  whatever  expense  of  individual  suffering  and 
ruin,  IT  MUST  be  stopped.     It  is  a  sad,  a  very  sad  thing, 


Ch.  5.] 

PUNISHMENT. 

137 

The  spread  of  sin 

must  be 

stopped. 

Sin  overruled  for 

good. 

The 

forgery. 

for  a  child  like  you  to  linger  for  ever  in  guilt  and  misery, 
but  it  would  be  a  far  more  melancholy  thing  for  the 
rebellion  against  God,  which  has  poisoned  all  the  sources 
of  happiness  here,  to  spread  throughout  God's  empire, 
withering  and  destroying  wherever  it  comes.  So  that  the 
charge  against  you,  is  not  based  upon  the  injury  your 
individual  sins  have  already  produced,  but  upon  this; 
viz.  that  by  deliberately  rejecting  God,  you  take  the  side 
of  sin  and  misery ;  you  do  all  in  your  power  to  bring  off 
God's  creatures  from  their  allegiance  to  him;  you  place 
yourself  exactly  across  the  way  over  which  the  mighty 
wheels  of  Jehovah's  government  are  coming,  and  the 
chariot  cannot  be  turned  aside  to  save  you,  without  des- 
truction to  the  rest. 

But  we  must  return  once  more  to  the  forgery,  for  the 
sake  of  deducing  one  farther  inference,  and  then  we  take 
our  final  leave  of  the  illustration. 

8.  Sin  may  be  overruled  so  as  to  result  in  good.  I 
introduce  this  subject  with  great  hesitation,  for  it  opens 
one  of  those  obscure  and  boundless  fields  of  thought, 
which  are  not  unfrequently  presenting  themselves  before 
us  in  looking  into  the  mighty  government  of  God.  Clouds 
and  mists  hang  over  it;  some  objects  are  entirely  con- 
cealed, and  some  we  see  but  indistinctly,  notwithstand- 
ing our  most  eager  efforts  to  fix  their  forms.  Now  and 
then,  the  shades  and  darkness  break  away  a  little,  and 
we  get  a  glimpse,  far  on  in  a  perspective  of  difficulty 
and  doubt;  but  before  we  have  time  to  fix  the  knowledge 
we  have  obtained,  the  clouds  close  in  again,  and  all  is 
once  more  darkness  and  gloom.  The  self-sufficient  and 
shallow  intellect,  which  never  really  thinks,  but  takes 
upon  trust  what  its  leaders  tell  it,  or  studies  only  to  find 
proofs  of  what  it  is  determined,  at  all  events,  to  believe, 
never  experiences,  what  I  now  mean;  but  no  man  can 
lay  aside  authority,  and  shake  off*  the  fetters  of  every 
bias,  and  come,  with  a  free,  untrammeled  mind,  to  look 
12* 


138  THE    CORNER-STO.VE.  [Ch.  6. 

It«  beneficial  effects.    Moral  impression.    The  autliority  of  law  sustained. 

into  the  moral  government  of  God,  without  being  often 
confounded  and  lost  in  the  sublime  obscurities  which 
continually  gather  round  his  way.  I  make  these  remarks 
because  it  is  to  such  an  obscure  and  darkened  field  that 
I  point  the  reader  now. 

Sin  may  be  overruled  for  good.  It  is  highly  probable 
that  the  forgery  which  we  have  been  considering,  result- 
ed in  the  most  beneficial  elfects  to  the  whole  community 
concerned  in  it.  Tlie  sin  and  the  penalty  which  follow- 
ed, were  most  conspicuously  displayed.  There  was 
scarcely  a  man  in  the  whole  empire  who  did  not  know 
these  facts  at  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  and  who  did 
not  watch  the  progress  of  the  efforts  which  were  made  to 
save  the  criminal.  Every  one  knew  that  the  administra- 
tion had  no  malicious  or  resentful  feelings  against  the 
sufferer;  and  that  if  they  refused  to  pardon,  it  was  only 
because  the  i)ublic  safety,  in  their  view,  imperiously 
forbade  it.  Thus  the  attention  of  the  whole  community 
was  called  to  the  nature  and  consequences  of  this  crime, 
and  a  moral  impression  was  produced,  which  must  have 
been  inconceivably  beneficial  in  its  effects.  It  has  made 
men  look  with  a  feeling  of  respect,  almost  amounting  to 
awe,  upon  the  written  signature; — and  attach  a  sacred- 
ness  to  it,  which,  though  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  men- 
tal  impression,  is  probably  one  of  the  greatest  safeguards 
to  property  which  the  institutions  or  customs  of  civilized 
life  afford.  We  do  not  mean  that  this  instance  has  been 
the  sole  promoter  of  this  feeling:  but  that  instances  like 
this  have  produced  it;  and  this  has  been  efficient  above 
all  others,  just  in  proportion  as  it  has  been  conspicuous 
beyond  the  rest. 

The  efl^ect  of  the  moral  impression  produced  by  this 
forgery  and  its  punishment,  was  not  confined  to  the  par- 
ticular class  of  offences  which  it  brought  more  directly 
to  view.  It  sustained  the  general  authority  of  law.  It 
spoke,  in  a  voice,  which  could  not  be  misunderstood,  of 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  139 

Good  often  done  by  the  commission  and  the  punishment  of  sin. 

the  nature  of  guilt,  and  the  ground  and  the  necessity  of 
punishment;  and  it  sent  forth  a  warning  to  every  village, 
and  neighborhood  in  the  land, —  a  warning  which  has 
been  remembered  to  this  day.  The  transaction  has  been 
appealed  to  continually,  from  that  time  to  this,  in  proof 
of  the  incorruptible  majesty  of  British  law. 

So  true  is  this,  that  if  an  English  statesman  at  the 
time,  had  regarded  only  the  effect  upon  the  commu- 
nity, he  would  not  have  regretted  the  transaction.  If 
he  could  have  overlooked  the  misery  of  the  poor  crim- 
inal, he  would  even  have  rejoiced  at  it,  as  a  transaction 
destined  to  result  in  immense  public  benefit.  In  fact  it 
has  undoubtedly  often  happened  that  a  government  has 
actually  rejoiced  in  the  commission  of  a  crime  which 
could  be  made,  by  exemplary  punishment,  the  means  of 
producing  a  moral  impression,  which  would  save  the 
community  from  some  threatening  dangers.  Yes;  where 
the  circumstances  of  the  offence  have  been  favorable 
for  this  purpose,  they  have  actually  rejoiced  at  it.  They 
have  rejoiced  too,  not  merely  that  the  criminal  was  de- 
tected, but  that  the  crime  was  committed, —  as  it  gave 
them  the  opportunity  to  arrest  far  greater  evils  than  the 
suffering  of  the  offender.  The  most  humane  and  benev- 
olent magistrate,  and  even  the  teacher  of  a  school  or  the 
father  of  a  family,  will  often  find  cases,  where  the  moral 
effects  produced  upon  the  community  under  his  care,  by 
some  offence  and  its  consequences,  have  been  so  bene- 
ficial, that  he  can  hardly  regret  the  occurrence.  We 
may  go  even  farther  than  this.  If  it  had  come  within 
the  power  of  a  statesman  to  do  it,  and  if  he  had  looked 
only  at  the  general  good,  and  not  at  the  sufferings  of  the 
individual,  he  could  not  have  adopted  a  wiser  measure, 
to  strengthen  general  confidence  in  the  authentication 
of  a  document  by  a  written  name,  than  by  actually  pro- 
ducing such  a  conspicuous  case  of  forgery,  and  inflicting 
its  punishment.     Of  course,  to  do  this  is  entirely  beyond 


140  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5. 

DilViculty.  Divine  power  over  the  human  liesii-t.  The  traveller. 

the  limits  of  huma7i  power;  and  the  mind  shrinks  back 
baflled  and  bewildered  iVoni  the  vain  attempt  to  under- 
stand the  degree  of  power  which  God  can  exercise  in 
respect  to  the  moral  agency  of  the  beings  he  has  formed. 
Does  any  thing  depend  upon  contingencies  which  he 
cannot  control?  If  not,  tlien  it  would  seem  that  there  is 
not  any  thing,  not  even  transgression,  which  is  not  a  part 
of  his  design.  The  origin  of  sin,  and  the  reasons  why 
it  is  permitted,  if  he  only  permits  it,  or  ordained,  if  we 
consider  him  in  all  things  absolute  and  supreme,  is  a 
subject  in  which  the  human  iaculties  are  confounded  and 
lost.  It  opens  before  us  one  of  those  vistas  of  dread 
uncertainty  and  doubt,  which  we  have  already  described. 
Shall  we  assign  any  limits  to  the  sovereignty  of  Almighty 
God,  in  regard  to  the  moral  conduct  of  his  creatures? 
Conflicting  feelings  tell  us  that  we  must,  and  that  we 
must  not;  and  reason  stands  overwhelmed  and  confound- 
ed by  the  grandeur  and  the  profoundness  of  the  recesses, 
which  she  attempts,  in  vain,  to  explore.  We  are  like 
the  traveller,  lost  at  midnight,  in  the  dark  glens  of  the 
mountains,  where  frowning  precipices  hang  over  his 
head,  and  forests  in  silence  and  solitude  stretch  away 
before  him.  Mists  float  through  the  valleys,  and  heavy 
clouds  hang  over  the  summits  of  the  mountains  or  move 
slowly  along  their  sides.  A  momentary  opening  admits 
to  his  straining  eyes  a  vista  of  grove  and  cliff  and  glen, 
which  the  moon,  brightening  for  an  instant,  reveals  to 
him;  but  before  he  has  time  to  separate  reality  from 
shadow,  or  to  gain  one  distinct  impression,  the  heavy 
cloud  rolls  over  him  again,  shuts  out  his  light,  cuts  off 
his  view,  and  leaves  him  bewildered  and  in  darkness. 
It  is  so  with  many  a  region  of  religious  truth.  The 
human  mind,  when  it  has  fairly  entered,  is  bewildered 
and  lost  in  the  mazy  scene.  Sometimes  an  opening  in 
the  clouds  in  which  it  is  enveloped,  give  it  a  momentary 
and  partial  glimpse  of  the  objects  around,  and  while  the 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  141 

Spirit  of  controversy.  God  is  to  be  feared.  The  Savior. 

thoughts  are  eagerly  reaching  forward  through  the  vista, 
almost  thinking  that  every  cloud  is  about  to  break  away 
and  disappear,  thick  shades  and  darkness  come  over  it 
again.  Hope  revives  for  a  moment,  as  the  moonlight 
beam  of  reason  feebly  shines  on  some  new  object,  in 
some  new  direction;  but  it  revives  only  to  be  again 
extinguished  as  before.  Into  this  scene  noisy  contro- 
versy loves  to  enter,  to  dispute  about  what  she  cannot 
see,  and  to  profane  the  sublimity  which  she  cannot  ap- 
preciate; but  intelligent  and  humble  piety  stands  awed, 
submissive  and  silent,  feeling  her  own  helpless  feeble- 
ness, and  adoring  the  incomprehensible  majesty  of  God. 

But  to  return,  "  God  is  love,"  is  one  part  of  the  inspir- 
ed delineation  of  his  character.  "  God  is  a  consuming 
fire,"  is  equally  distinct,  and  it  comes  from  equally  high 
authority.  There  is  however  a  common  understanding 
among  men,  that  they  will  read  and  appreciate  the  for- 
mer, while  the  latter  is  almost  wholly  passed  by.  In 
fact  there  is  amonoj  many  persons,  and  t^vpn  among 
Christians,  a  feeling  that  God  must  be  considered  and 
represented  as  a  father  only,  not  as  a  magistrate ;  chil- 
dren must  be  taught  to  love  him,  not  to  fear  him;  and 
those  terrible  denunciations  which  frown  on  every  page 
of  the  Bible  are  kept  out  of  view.  It  is  even  thought  by 
many  that  there  is  a  kind  of  harshness  and  inhumanity 
in  representing  God  as  he  is,  a  God  of  terrible  majesty, 
and  in  holding  up  distinctly  and  clearly  to  view,  the  awful 
retributions  he  threatens,  with  any  design  to  deter  men 
by  fear,  from  breaking  his  laws.  But  Jesus  Christ 
thought  not  so.  "  Fear  him,"  says  he,  "  who  can  de- 
stroy BOTH    soul    and  BODY    IN    HELL.       Yca   I    Say  UUtO 

you* fear  him."  He  never  shrunk  from  bringing  fully 
to  view  the  undying  worm, —  the  ceaseless  torment, — • 
the  inextinguishable  fire.  We  are  too  benevolent,  say 
some,  to  beheve  such  things,  or  to  teach  such  things. 


142  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5. 

Insensibility  to  God's  threatened  judgments.  A  form  of  unbelieC 

Benevolent!  Yes;  they  are  more  benevolent  than  the 
Savior.  He  had  love  enough  for  men,  to  tell  them 
plainly  the  truth;  but  these,  it  seems,  have  more.  1  do 
not  speak  here,  merely  of  tlu>se  who  openly  deny  the 
declarations  of  the  J^ible  on  this  subject,  but  of  a  very 
large  j)ortion  of  the  christian  church,  who  never  tremble 
themselves,  or  teach  their  children  to  tremble,  at  the 
wratli  to  come.  IVIany  a  christian  reader  of  the  Bible 
passes  over  its  pages,  thinking  that  such  truths  arc  all 
for  others,  when  m  fact  tiiey  are  peculiarly  needed  by 
himself.  He  is  a  professor  of  religion,  thinks  his  peace 
is  made  with  God,  and  that  consequently  the  terrors  of  a 
coming  judgment  are  nothing  to  him.  In  the  meantime, 
he  leads  a  worldly  life, —  he  does,  day  after  day,  what 
he  knows  to  be  wrong, —  frustrating  the  grace  of  God, 
by  making  his  vain  hope  of  forgiveness  the  very  opiate 
which  lulls  him  into  sin.  As  to  threatened  punishment, 
it  passes  by  him  like  the  idle  wind.  God  is  a  father, 
he  says;  his  government  is  paternal;  and  the  language 
which  proplnims  his  threatened  judgments  is  eastern  me- 
taphor, or,  if  it  has  any  serious  meaning,  it  is  intended 
for  others,  not  for  him.  This  feeling  extends  to  all.  It 
is  one  of  the  forms  which  human  unbelief,  so  obstinate 
and  so  universal,  assumes.  If  we  were  to  look  through- 
out the  Bible  for  the  subject  which  is  presented  with  the 
greatest  prominence  and  emphasis  there,  and  one  which 
is  pressed  most  directly,  with  reference  to  a  strong  and 
continual  influence  upon  human  minds,  it  is  the  unshrink- 
ing and  terrible  decision,  with  which,  under  the  govern- 
ment of  God,  sin  will  be  punished ;  and  yet  how  very  few 
there  are,  even  in  the  most  enlightened  christian  conri- 
munity,  and  in  the  very  bosom  of  the  church,  who  stand 
in  any  daily  fear  of  the  judgment  to  come.  So  settled 
and  universal  is  this  feeling,  that  some  readers  will  per- 
haps be  surprised  at  the  idea  that  fear  of  God's  judg- 
ments should  have  a  place  in  the  bosom  of  the  church, 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  143 

Christians  should  be  affected  by  it.  Probation.  Debt  and  credit. 

"  There  is  no  fear  in  love,"  they  will  say;  "  perfect  love 
casteth  out  fear."  So  it  does,  but  it  must  be  perfect 
love;  and  when  a  church  has  attained  to  this, — when  sin 
is  banished  from  every  soul, —  and  the  world  is  finally 
abandoned, —  and  God  reigns,  in  supreme,  and  unques- 
tioned, and  uninterrupted  sway, —  and  every  heart  is 
a  temple  of  perfect  purity  and  hohness, —  then  may  its 
members  cease  to  think  of  the  danger  of  God's  displea- 
sure.    Then;  but  not  till  then. 

The  great  foundation  of  the  almost  universal  unbelief 
which  prevails,  in^ respect  to  the  consequences  of  sin, 
rests  in  the  heart.  Man  is  unwilling  to  believe  what 
condemns  and  threatens  himself.  But  while  the  origin 
is  in  the  heart,  the  intellect  assists  in  maintaining  the  de- 
lusion, and  this  chiefly  through  the  mistake  of  consider- 
ing moral  obligation  as  of  the  nature  of  debt  and  credit, 
instead  of  regarding  God's  government  as  it  really  is, 
a  system  of  probation.  The  meaning  of  probation  is 
understood  well  enough  in  reference  to  this  world. 
Young  men  are  led  to  see  that  there  are  certain  crises 
in  their  lives,  when  immense  and  irretrievable  conse- 
quences depend  upon  the  action  of  an  hour.  This  is 
well  known; — the  principle  is  interwoven  into  all  the 
providential  arrangements  of  life.  Men  do  not  complain 
of  it;  they  see  practically  its  fitness.  But  when  they 
come  to  look  at  the  attitude  in  which  they  stand  towards 
God,  the  idea  of  probation  gives  way  to  that  of  debt  and 
credit, —  and  they  go  to  estimating  their  sins, —  and  to 
calculating  the  time  they  have  spent  in  committing  them, 
— and  they  bring  on  their  offsets  of  good  deeds, —  and 
then  consider  what  amount  of  suffering  is  necessary  to 
close  the  account. 

In  order  to  show  how  momentous  are  the  consequen- 
ces which  often  depend  upon  a  very  brief  period  of  trial, 
let  us  take  a  very  common  case.  A  boy  of  twelve  years 
old,  brought  up  by  christian  parents  in  some  quiet  vil- 


144  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5. 

The  young  man.  Leaving  home.  Allurements  of  siiw 

lage,  is  sent  at  last  to  the  metropolis,  into  a  commercial 
establishment,  where  he  is  to  commence  the  duties  of 
active  litb.  As  his  mother  gives  him  her  last  charge, 
and  with  forced  smiles,  but  with  a  bursting  heart,  bids 
him  good-by,  he  thinks  he  cannot  yield  to  any  tempta- 
tions, which  can  beset  him.  For  many  days,  and  per- 
haps weeks,  he  is  strong.  He  is  alone,  though  in  a 
crowded  city;  his  heart,  solitary  and  sad,  roams  back 
to  his  native  hills,  and  recalls  a  thousand  incidents  of 
childhood;  conscience,  foreseeing  the  struggles  that  are 
to  come,  is  busy  in  his  heart,  retouching  every  faint  and 
fading  moral  impression,  which  years  gone  by  had  made 
there.  He  looks  upon  the  diseased  and  abandoned  pro- 
fligates around  him  with  horror,  and  shrinks  instinctively 
back  from  the  very  idea  of  vice.  Every  night  he  reads 
a  passage  in  the  beautiful  Bible,  which  was  packed  by 
stealth  in  his  trunk,  with  his  father's  and  mother's  names 
upon  the  blank  page;  and  he  prays  God  for  strength  and 
help,  to  enable  him  to  be  faithful  in  duty,  and  grateful 
to  them. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  the  world  is  somewhat 
changed  to  him.  He  does  not  love  his  parents,  and  his 
early  home  the  less,  perhaps,  but  he  thinks  of  new  scenes 
and  new  employments  a  little  more.  He  forms  acquain- 
tances, and  hears  sentiments  and  language  which  he 
must,  in  heart,  condemn,  though  he  does  it  more  and 
more  faintly,  at  each  successive  repetition.  He  engag- 
es with  his  new  comrades  in  plans  of  enjoyment  which 
he  feels  are  questionable.  Either  they  are  positively 
wrong,  or  else  his  previous  notions  have  been  too  strict; 
he  cannot  exactly  decide  which,  and  he  accordingly  tries 
them  more  and  more,  occasionally  reasoning  with  him- 
self in  regard  to  their  character,  but  coming  to  no  abso- 
lute decision.  He  does  not  think  of  home  so  much 
as  he  did; — somehow  or  other  there  are  melancholy 
thoughts  connected  with  it, —  and  he  finds  it  less  easy 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  145 

The  Crisis.      The  sore  temptation  and  the  struggle.      Results  depending. 

and  pleasant  to  write  to  his  parents.  He  used  to  have 
a  letter,  well  filled,  always  ready  for  any  private  oppor- 
tunity which  accident  might  fiirnish ;  but  now,  he  writes 
seldom,  though  he  apologizes  very  freely  for  his  seem- 
ing neglect,  and  expects  every  week  to  have  more  time. 

At  last,  some  Saturday  afternoon,  the  proposal  comes 
up  among  his  companions,  to  go  off  on  the  morrow  on 
a  party  of  pleasure.  It  is  not  made  directly  to  him,  but 
it  is  in  his  hearing,  and  he  knows  that  he  is  included  in 
the  plan,  and  must  decide  in  favor  or  against  it.  A  party 
of  pleasure, —  of  innocent  recreation,  they  call  it.  He 
knows  it  is  a  party  of  dissipation  and  vice, —  and  formed 
too  for  that  sacred  day,  which  God  commands  him  to 
keep  holy.  He  says  nothing,  and  from  his  silent  and 
almost  indifferent  look,  while  they  loudly  and  eagerly 
discuss  the  plan,  you  would  suppose  that  he  was  an  un- 
concerned spectator.  But  no;  look  at  him  more  atten- 
tively. Is  not  his  cheek  a  little  pale?  Is  there  not  a 
slight  quiver  upon  his  lip?  And  a  slight  tremor  in  his 
limbs,  as  he  leans  upon  a  chair,  as  if  his  strength  failed 
him  a  little?  These  external  indications  are  very  slight, 
but  they  are  the  indications  of  a  sinking  of  the  spirit 
within,  as  he  feels  that  the  moral  forces  are  taking 
sides,  and  marshalling  themselves  in  array  for  the  strug- 
gle which  must  come  on.  Conscience  does  not  speak; 
-—but  he  knows,  he  feels,  how  she  will  speak,  before 
this  question  is  decided.  Inclinations,  which  are  begin- 
ning to  grow  powerful  by  indulgence,  do  not  yet  draw, 
but  he  knows  how  they  will  draw;  and  the  blood  falls 
back  upon  his  heart,  and  strength  fails  from  his  limbs, 
as  he  foresees  the  contest.  It  seems  as  if  the  combat- 
ants were  drawing  up  their  forces  in  gloomy  silence, 
waiting,  by  common  consent,  till  the  time  shall  arrive, 
and  the  signal  be  given,  for  their  deadly  struggle. 

The  armistice  continues,  with  slight  interruptions,  until 
he  leaves  his  companions,  and  having  closed  the  busi- 

13 


146  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5* 

Consequences  of  a  defeat.  Probation.  Nature  of  h. 

ness  of  the  day,  walks  towards  his  Iiome.  But  there  are 
within  liim  tlie  elements  of  war,  and  as  soon  as  he  retires 
to  his  solitary  room,  and  the  stimulus  and  excitement 
of  external  objects  are  removed,  the  contest  is  begun. 
I  need  not  describe  it;  I  can  have  no  reader  who 
does  not  understand  the  bitterness  of  the  struggle  which 
ensues,  when  duty,  and  conscience,  and  the  command  of 
God,  endeavor  to  maintain  their  stand  against  the  onset 
of  sore  temj)tation.  Human  beings  have  occasion  to 
know  what  this  is,  full  well. 

Besides,  it  is  not  to  the  circumstances  of  the  contest  in 
such  a  case,  that  I  wish  to  turn  the  attention  of  the  read- 
er, but  to  this  fact:  that  very  probably,  on  the  event  of 
this  single  struggle,  the  whole  character  and  happiness 
of  the  young  man,  for  life,  depend.  He  may  not  see  it 
so  at  the  time,  but  it  is  so.  If  duty  gains  the  victory 
here,  her  next  conquest  will  be  achieved  more  easily. 
There  is  a  double  advantage  gained,  for  the  strength  of 
moral  principle  is  increased,  and  the  pressure  of  subse- 
quent attacks  is  diminished.  The  opposing  forces  which 
such  a  young  man  must  encounter,  in  taking  the  right 
stand,  are  far  more  powerful  than  those  which  tend  to 
drive  him  from  it,  when  once  it  is  taken.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  he  yields  here,  he  yields  probably  for  ever. 
Conscience  stands  rebuked  and  silenced;  guilty  passions 
become  tumultuous  for  future  gratification;  impure  and 
unholy  thoughts  pollute  his  mind;  and  though  remorse 
may,  probably,  for  a  long  time  to  come,  at  intervals 
more  and  more  distant,  and  in  tones  more  and  more  faint, 
utter  reproaches  and  warnings,  he  will,  in  all  probability, 
go  rapidly  down  the  broad  road  of  vice  and  sin.  All  this 
is  not  fancy,  but  fact.  It  is  the  sober  history  of  hundreds 
of  young  men,  who  go  down  every  year  to  ruin,  in  pre- 
cisely this  way.  They  have  their  time  of  trial;  the  time 
when  they  are  put  to  the  test;  a  crisis,  which,  in  many, 
many  cases,  is  over  in  a  few  hours,  but  whose    awful 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMET^T.  147 

Sin  perpetuates  itself.  Its  worst  effects.  Wandering  from  God. 

consequences  extend  through  a  Hfe  of  misery,  and  are 
not  stopped,  even  by  the  grave. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  supposed,  that  all  the  miseries  of  a 
life  of  vice,  ought  not  to  be  charged  upon  the  hour  when 
the  first  step  was  taken,  but  should  be  considered  as  the 
consequences  of  the  repeated  acts  of  transgression  which 
the  individual  goes  on  to  commit.  We  have  no  objec- 
tion to  this  at  all,  but  it  does  not  relieve  the  hour  of  the 
first  transgression  from  any  portion  of  its  responsibility; 
for  this  very  disposition  to  go  on  in  sin,  is  the  direct  re- 
sult of  the  first  transgression;  and  it  is  the  very  worst 
result  of  it.  If  the  first  sin  left  the  heart  in  a  right  state, 
the  conscience  tender,  and  guilty  passions  subdued;  and 
if  nothing  was  to  follow  from  it  but  simple  suffering,  even 
if  it  were  suffering  for  years,  it  would  be  comparatively 
nothing.  The  greatest,  the  most  terrible  of  all  the  evils 
which  result  from  the  first  indulgence  of  sin,  is  that  it 
leads  almost  inevitably,  to  a  second  and  a  third.  The 
tyrant  takes  advantage  of  his  momentary  power,  to  rivet 
his  fetters,  and  to  secure  his  victim  in  hopeless  slavery. 
So  that  if  a  young  man  spends  one  night  in  sin,  the  great 
evil  is  not,  that  he  must  suffer  the  next  day,  but  that  he 
will  go  on  sinning  the  next  day.  He  brings  heart,  and 
conscience,  and  ungodly  passions  into  such  a  relative 
condition,  that  he  will  go  on.  There  is  not  half  as  much 
to  stop  him,  as  there  was  to  prevent  his  setting  out,  so 
that  the  first  transgression  has  for  its  consequences,  not 
only  its  own  peculiar  miseries,  but  all  the  succeeding 
steps  in  the  declivity  of  sin,  together  with  the  attendant 
suffering,  which,  to  the  end  of  time,  follow  in  their  train. 

All  this  is  true,  though  not  universally,  in  respect  to 
the  vices  and  crimes  of  human  life.  I  say  not  univer- 
sally, for  the  wanderer  does,  sometimes,  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, stop  and  return.  But  it  is  true  universally,  and 
without  exception,  of  the  broad  way  of  sin  against  God, 
from  which  the  wanderer,  if  he  once  enters  it,  will  never, 


148  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  5. 

Can  the  sinner  reiurnl  Will  die  sinner  retnrnl 

of  his  own  accord,  turn  back.  Take  the  first  step  here, 
and  all  is  lost.  The  inclination  to  return  never  comes. 
The  whole  Bible  teaches  us,  that  sin  once  admitted, 
whether  it  be  by  a  spotless  spirit  before  the  throne  of 
God,  or  by  a  tender  infant  here,  establishes  its  fixed  and 
perpetual  reign.  Cannot  the  sinner  return.?  the  reader 
perhaps  may  ask.  Cannot  the  fallen  spirit  or  sinning 
man,  give  up  his  warfare  and  come  back  to  God?  Can- 
not Dives,  who  neglected  and  disobeyed  God  when  on 
earth,  seek  his  forgiveness  and  his  favor  now?  We  have 
nothing  to  do  with  these  questions;  the  inquiry  for  us 
to  make  is,  not  whether  they  can,  but  whether  they  will 
return.  The  Bible  tells  us  they  will  not;  but  with  man- 
kind around  us,  and  our  own  hearts  open  to  our  view, 
we  scarcely  need  its  testimony.  Sin  once  admitted,  the 
soul  is  ruined.  It  lies  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins;  going 
farther  and  farther  away  from  God,  and  sinking  contin- 
ually in  guilt  and  misery.  It  may  indeed,  while  in  this 
state,  be  clothed  in  the  appearances  of  external  virtue, 
but  it  will  still  remain,  hopelessly  estranged  from  God, 
so  deeply  corrupted,  and  so  wholly  lost,  that  it  can  be 
restored  to  purity  and  holiness  again,  only  by  being 
created  anew.  Sin  thus  does  more  than  entail  misery, 
—  it  perpetuates  itself.  The  w^orst  of  all  its  consequen- 
ces, is,  its  own  inevitable  and  eternal  continuance. 

The  question  is  very  often  asked,  whether  the  pun- 
ishment of  sin  in  another  world,  will  be  suffering  directly 
inflicted,  or  only  the  evils  which  naturally  and  inevitably 
flow  from  sin.  The  distinction  between  these  two  spe- 
cies of  retribution  is  very  clear  in  respect  to  human 
punishments,  but  it  is  lost  at  once,  in  a  great  measure, 
when  we  come  to  the  government  of  God.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  draw  the  line  between  them,  because  whatever 
consequences  follow,  they  are  so  uniformly,  and  indis- 
solubly  connected  with  sin,  that  they  form  a  part  of  its 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  149 

God  often  employs  suffering.  Arrangements  for  it  in  the  human  frame. 

nature.  In  fact,  it  is  not  enough  to  say  that  sin  brings 
suffering, —  it  is  suffering.  Misery  is,  as  it  were,  an 
essential  property  of  it;  but  whether  rendered  so  by  the 
decision  of  Jehovah,  or  by  an  original  and  absolute 
necessity  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  it  is  perhaps  im- 
possible for  human  powers  to  determine.  One  thing  is 
certain,  however,  that  Jehovah  does  not  shrink  from  the 
direct  employment  of  suffering,  whenever  it  is  necessary 
to  accomplish  his  purposes.  It  is  an  unpopular  subject, 
and  one  which,  probably,  a  vast  majority  of  readers  would 
prefer  to  have  passed  by;  but  no  one  can  form  any 
correct  idea  of  his  Maker's  character,  or  know  at  all, 
what  he  is  to  expect  at  his  hands,  without  being  fully 
aware  of  it. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  human  frame.  It  is  made  for 
health  and  happiness,  and  when  we  look  upon  a  counte- 
nance blooming  with  beauty,  and  observe  its  expression 
of  quiet  enjoyment,  we  feel  that  the  being  who  formed  it, 
is  a  God  of  love.  But  we  must  not  forget,  that  within 
that  very  blooming  cheek,  there  is  contrived  an  appara- 
tus capable  of  producing  something  very  different  from 
enjoyment.  A  fibrous  net-work  spreads  over  it,  coming 
out  in  one  trunk  from  the  brain,  extending  everywhere 
its  slender  ramifications,  and  sending  a  little  thread  to 
every  point  upon  the  surface.  What  is  this  mechanism 
for?  Its  uses  are  many;  but  among  its  other  properties, 
there  is  in  it  a  slumbering  power,  which  may  indeed 
never  be  called  into  action,  but  which  always  exists,  and 
is  always  ready,  whenever  God  shall  call  it  forth,  to  be 
the  instrument  of  irremediable  and  unutterable  suffering. 
We  admit  that  in  almost  every  case,  it  remains  harmless, 
and  inoperative;  still  it  is  there,  always  there,  and  always 
ready;  and  it  is  called  into  action  whenever  God  thinks 
best.  And  it  is  not  merely  in  the  cheek,  but  throughout 
every  part  of  the  frame  that  the  apparatus  of  suffering 
13* 


160  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5. 

Ueea  of  suffering.  Jehovah  is  to  be  feared. 

lies  concealed;  and  it  is  an  apparatus  which  is  seldom 
out  of  order.  Sickness  deranges  and  weakens  the  other 
powers,  but  it  seldom  interferes  witli  this;  it  remains 
always  at  its  post,  in  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  brain,  the  hand, 
— in  every  organ  and  every  limb,  and  always  ready  to  do 
God's  bidding. 

Nor  is  it  useless;  an  idle  preparation  of  instruments, 
never  to  be  employed.  It  is  called  into  action  often,  and 
with  terrific  power.  God  accomplishes  a  great  many  of 
its  most  important  purposes  by  it.  These  purposes  it  is 
not  our  business  now  to  examine,  though  there  can  be 
scarcely  a  more  interesting  field  of  inquiry  for  us,  than 
the  uses  of  suffering,  and  the  extent  to  which  God  en>- 
ploys  it  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  plans.  These  pur- 
poses are  all  benevolent,  most  highly  so;  still,  suffering, 
freely  employed,  is  the  means  through  which  they  are 
produced.  All  nature  corroborates  what  the  Bible  as- 
serts, that  our  Maker  is  not  only  a  father  to  be  loved, 
but  a  magistrate  to  be  feared. 

The  dreadful  suflfering,  which  God  has  in  providence 
inflicted  upon  communities  and  individuals,  for  the  viola- 
tions of  his  laws,  cannot  be  described,  nor  can  they  be 
conceived,  by  those  who  have  not  experienced  them. 
We  know,  however,  something  of  their  power,  and  the 
awful  extent  to  which  retribution  for  sin  has  been  pour- 
ed out  upon  men.  It  is  far  pleasanter,  in  examining  the 
character  of  God,  and  his  dealings  with  us,  to  dwell 
upon  the  proofs  of  his  love,  than  upon  those  of  his  anger, 
but  we  must  not  yield  to  the  inclination,  so  as  to  go  to 
the  Judgment,  with  expectations  of  lenity  and  forbear- 
ance which  we  shall  not  find.  It  is  best  to  know  the 
whole,  and  to  be  prepared  for  it;  and  not  to  attempt  to 
avoid  a  coming  storm,  by  denying  its  approach,  or  shut- 
ting our  eyes  to  the  evidences  of  its  destructive  power. 
Still,  however,  the   feelings  which   a  knowledge  of 


Ch.  5.]  PUNISHMENT.  151 

Value  of  an  efficient  government.  Conclusion- 

God's  character  as  a  magistrate,  will  awaken  in  us,  will 
depend  in  a  great  degree,  upon  the  side  we  take  in  re- 
spect to  obedience  to  his  law.  An  efficient  government 
is  a  terror  to  evil  doers,  but  it  has  no  terrors  for  those 
who  do  well.  We  all  love  to  be  under  the  dominion  of 
just  and  righteous  laws,  and  if  we  are  disposed  to  keep 
them  ourselves,  we  love  to  have  them  inflexibly  admin- 
istered in  respect  to  others.  If,  therefore,  to  any  of  our 
readers  the  subject  of  this  chapter  is  a  gloomy  one,  we 
assure  them,  in  conclusion,  that  they  may  divest  it  of  all 
its  gloom,  by  giving  up  sin  and  returning  to  duty.  When 
we  think  of  the  ravages  of  sin  in  this  world,  the  cruelty, 
the  oppression  and  indescribable  miseries  it  has  brought 
down  upon  its  victims,  we  feel  that  we  need  an  efficient 
Eind  a  strong  protector.  We  must  be  more  or  less  ex- 
posed, a  little  longer,  here,  but  the  time  will  come,  when 
we  shall  enjoy  full  protection,  and  perfect  safety,  and 
though  we  cannot  but  feel  sorrowful  and  sad,  to  reflect 
that  any  of  our  fellow  beings  are  to  be  shut  up  at  last  in 
an  eternal  prison,  we  still  cannot  but  rejoice  that  the 
time  will  come,  when  neglect  and  disobedience  towards 
God,  and  selfish  and  ungovernable  passions  towards 
man,  will  be  confined  and  separated  from  all  that  is  pure 
and  holy,  by  a  gulf  that  they  cannot  pass  over.  We 
know  that  this  little  planet,  with  all  its  millions,  is  as 
nothing  among  the  countless  worlds  which  fill  the  wide- 
spread regions  all  around  it.  Into  those  regions  we  can- 
not but  hope  that  sin  and  misery  has  not  yet  extended. 
There  may  be,  we  hope  there  is,  unbroken  peace  and 
happiness  and  virtue  there.  The  destructive  disease 
which  has  raged  here  for  forty  centuries,  spreading  mis^ 
ery,  and  ruin  everywhere,  can  be  controlled  and  stopped, 
only  by  Jehovah's  hand.  All  depends  on  him;  and  the 
only  hope  of  our  ever  finding  a  safe  and  quiet  home, 
where  we  can  once  more  be  protected  and  happy,  de- 
pends upon  the  firm  and  inflexible  decision  with  which 


152  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  5. 

Pardon  possible.  Always  desirable  when  it  is  safti 

he  manages  this  case  of  rebclHon.  He  must  not  pardon, 
unless  he  can  pardon  safely.  He  hiust  not  endanger  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  his  empire,  to  save,  comparative- 
ly a  few,  who  have  deliberately  rejected  his  reign. 


1 
CHAPTER  VI. 

PARDON, 

OR    CONSEaUENCES    SAVED. 

"  God  hath  not  appointed  us  to  wrath,  but  to  obtain  salvation  by 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  died  for  us,  that,  whether  we  wake  or 
Bleep,  we  should  live  together  with  him." 

Notwithstanding  all  that  was  said  in  the  last  chap- 
ter, in  respect  to  the  necessity  of  the  most  vigorous  and 
energetic  measures  in  arresting  the  consequences  of  sin, 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  pardon; — forgiveness,  perfectly 
free,  and  yet  perfectly  safe.  There  are  various  ways  by 
which  the  objects  of  punishment  can  be  secured,  with- 
out punishment  itself, —  though  these  various  modes  are 
perhaps  only  different  applications  of  the  same  or  similar 
principles.  The  object  of  law  and  penalty  is  to  hold  up 
to  the  community  distinctly  the  nature  and  the  effects  of 
sin, —  to  make  a  strong  moral  impression  against  it,  and 
thus  to  erect  a  barrier,  which  shall  prevent  its  extension. 
A  wise  parent  or  teacher,  who  feels  the  necessity  of 
being  firm  and  decisive  in  government,  will  find  a  great 
many  cases  occur,  in  which  punishment  that  is  really 
deserved,  is  unnecessary;  that  is,  when  the  objects  en- 
umerated above,  can  be  attained  without  it.  Now  every 
wise  parent  and  teacher  desires  to  save  suffering  wher- 
ever it  can  be  saved,  and  though  there  is  great  danger 
of  doing  this  when  it  cannot  be  done  safely,  still  there 
are  cases  where  it  certainly  is  safe. 


Ch.  6.] 

PARDON. 

153 

The  story  of  the  lost  cap. 

The  teacher's  motives. 

The  reader  is  requested  to  c^l  to  mind  here,  the  story 
of  the  lost  cap,  given  at  the  commencement  of  the  third 
chapter  of  this  work.  It  was  there  introduced  for  an- 
other purpose,  but  it  illustrates  very  well,  the  point  we 
have  here  in  view.  The  course  which  the  teacher  pur- 
sued in  that  case,  was  undoubtedly  far  better  than  any 
plan  of  punishment  would  have  been.  Every  body  will 
admit  this.  There  cannot  be  a  question  in  the  mind  of 
any  one  who  understands  human  nature,  that  the  course 
there  described,  was  most  admirably  adapted  to  secure 
the  object.  In  order  to  perceive  this,  however,  it  must 
be  distinctly  understood,  what  the  real  object  of  punish- 
ment is,  viz.  a  good  effect  upon  the  community,  not  the 
gratification  of  personal  resentment  against  the  offender. 
If  the  teacher,  in  that  case,  had  been  a  passionate  man, 
and  if  his  feelings  of  resentment  had  been  aroused  at  the 
misconduct  of  his  pupil,  he  never  would  have  devised 
such  a  plan  to  save  him.  It  is  difficult  to  tell  which 
appears  most  conspicuous  in  such  a  case  as  that,  the 
wish  to  promote  the  highest  welfare  of  the  little  commu- 
nity over  which  he  presided,  or  delicate  and  compassion- 
ate interest  in  the  feelings  of  the  offender.  Any  person 
who  is  capable  of  perceiving  moral  beauty  at  all,  will 
see  that,  in  the  plan  he  adopted,  both  these  feelings,  viz. 
firm  and  steady  regard  for  the  safety  of  the  community, 
and  benevolent  interest  in  the  transgressor,  were  sin- 
gularly and  beautifully  blended.  The  plan  he  adopted, 
was  in  substance,  this:  he  substituted  his  own  inconve- 
nience and  suffering  for  the  punishment  of  his  pupil,  so 
as  to  rely  upon  the  former  for  the  production  of  that 
moral  effect  which  would  naturally  have  resulted  from 
the  latter.  We  observe  three  things  in  the  character  of 
this  transaction,  which  are  of  importance  to  be  mentioned 
here.  First,  the  plan  originated  in  love  for  the  offender, 
and  a  wish  to  save  him  suffering.  Secondly,  it  was 
exactly  adapted  to  touch  his  feelings,  and  produce  a  real 


154  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6, 

Cases  common.  Not  precisely  analogous  to  tlie  plan  of  salvation. 

change  in  his  heart,  which  punishment  probably  would 
not  liavc  efioctcd.  Thirdly,  it  secured  the  great  object, 
the  right  moral  impression  upon  the  little  community 
which  witnessed  it,  far  more  perfectly  and  more  pleas- 
antly, than  any  other  mode  could  have  done.  The 
whole  plan  is  an  instance  of  what  may  be  called  moral 
substitution,  —  putting  the  voluntary  suffering  of  the 
innocent,  in  tlie  place  of  the  punishment  of  tiie  guilty. 
This  principle,  substantially,  though  seldom  or  never 
brouo-ht  to  view  by  writers  on  rewards  and  punishments, 
is  very  often  applied.  They  who  resort  to  it,  perceive, 
in  the  individual  cases,  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  feeling, 
its  powerful  and  healthful  effect,  though  they  may  not 
perhaps  philosophize  on  its  nature.  The  story  of  the 
lost  cap,  is  a  specimen  of  many  cases,  where  this  or  a 
similar  principle  is  acted  upon  by  intelligent  parents  or 
teachers.  Each  particular  case,  however,  is  different 
from  the  others,  and  presents  the  principle  in  a  dilferent 
aspect.  I  will  therefore  add  one  or  two  others,  describ- 
ing them  as  they  actually  occurred.  Before  proceeding, 
however,  I  ought  distinctly  to  say,  that  no  human  trans- 
actions can  be  entirely  analogous  to  the  great  plan  of 
redeeming  man  from  sin  and  misery  by  the  sufTerings 
and  death  of  Jesus  Christ.  They  may  partly  illustrate 
it,  however,  some  conforming  to  it  in  one  respect,  and 
some  in  another.  The  reader  will  therefore  understand 
that  I  offer  these  cases  as  analogous  to  the  arrangement 
made  for  saving  men  through  the  atoning  sufferings  of 
Jesus  Christ,  only  in  the  general  principle,  viz.  that  of 
moral  substitution, —  accomplishing,  by  means  of  the  suf- 
fering of  the  innocent,  what  is  ordinarily  secured  by  the 
punishment  of  the  guilty.  I  will  first  mention  a  very 
trivial  case.  I  give  this  rather  than  more  important  and 
extraordinary  ones,  because  it  is  more  likely  to  recall  to 
the  minds  of  parents,  similar  instances  which  may  have 
occurred  in  their  own  government. 


Ch.  6.] 

PARDON.                                                  155 

The  broken  stucco. 

Suffering  of  the  innocent  for  the  guilty. 

In  a  certain  school,  it  was  the  custom  for  the  pupils  to 
play  during  the  recesses,  in  the  school-room,  with  soft 
balls,  stuffed  lightly  with  cotton,  and  which  could  con- 
sequently be  thrown  without  danger.  The  use  of  hard 
balls,  which  were  sometimes  brought  to  school,  was 
strictly  forbidden.  One  morning,  as  the  teacher  entered 
the  room,  and  was  just  taking  his  seat  at  his  desk,  a  girl 
approached  him,  with  a  very  sad  and  sorrowful  look,  and 
followed  by  several  of  her  companions.  She  had  in  her 
hand  some  fragments  of  stucco. 

"  Sir,"  said  she  sorrowfully,  holding  up  the  broken 
pieces,  "  see  what  I  have  done." 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  the  teacher. 

She  pointed  up  to  the  ceiling,  where  was  an  orna- 
mented centre  piece,  wrought  in  stucco,  and  said  she 
had  broken  it  off  from  that,  with  her  hard  ball. 

It  was  very  evident  from  the  countenance  of  the  of- 
fender, and  from  the  general  expression  of  concern  which 
was  visible  in  the  many  faces  which  were  turned  towards 
the  group  at  the  teacher's  desk,  that  she  herself,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  pupils,  felt  deeply  the  fact,  that  the  con- 
sequences of  this  breach  of  law  must  come  upon  the 
teacher,  as  the  one  entrusted  with  the  apartment,  and 
responsible  for  it.  They  were  attached  to  their  teacher, 
and  would  rather  have  suffered  themselves,  than  have 
brought  inconvenience  and  trouble  to  him;  and  he  per- 
ceived by  a  glance  of  the  eye,  that  by  this  means,  a 
moral  impression  was  made,  far  more  effectual  and  val- 
uable than  any  punishment  would  have  produced.  In 
a  word,  he  saw  that,  through  his  suffering,  the  offender 
might  safely  go  free.  If  no  injury  had  been  done,  he 
would  have  noticed,  very  seriously,  any  violation  of  the 
law,  but  since  the  injury  came  upon  him,  and  since 
the  little  community  was  in  such  a  state  that  it  would 
feel  this  deeply,  the  very  best,  the  very  wisest  thing  he 
could   do,  was  to  pass   over  the   offence   entirely.     A 


156  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

Effects  of  the  8iil)stitution.  The  principle  often  appliei 

rough,  passionate  and  unthinking  man,  might  perhaps, 
in  such  a  case,  have  rebuked,  with  greater  sternness, 
and  punished  with  greater  severity,  just  in  proportion  to 
the  inconvenience  and  trouble  the  sin  brought  upon  him; 
but  he  who  knows  human  nature,  and  studies  tiie  adapt- 
ation of  moral  means,  for  the  accomplishment  of  moral 
ends,  will  see  in  a  moment,  that  in  such  a  case,  the 
mildest  punishment,  even  the  gentlest  reproof  would 
weaken  the  impression;  and  that  the  way  to  make  the 
most  of  such  an  occurrence,  would  be  to  dismiss  the 
sorrowful  pupil  with  kind  words  in  respect  to  the  injury, 
and  without  a  syllable  about  her  sin.  This,  too,  is  moral 
suhslitutwn;  receiving,  through  the  sufferings  of  the  in- 
nocent, the  advantages  usually  sought  from  the  punish- 
ment of  the  guilty. 

It  is  difficult  to  lay  down  general  principles  in  regard 
to  the  applications  of  this  principle  in  the  moral  educa- 
tion of  the  young,  because  so  much  depends  upon  the 
state  of  feeling  of  the  parties  concerned,  at  the  time. 
For  example,  in  the  case  last  described,  had  the  offender 
been  not  penitent  and  not  concerned,  and  had  a  feeling 
of  cold  indifTerence  prevailed  in  the  school-room,  in  re- 
gard to  the  injury  which  had  been  done,  the  course 
taken  would  have  been  most  evidently  unwise,  and  un- 
safe. It  is  a  question  of  moral  impression  on  hearts, — 
an  impression  in  favor  of  law,  and  against  the  breach  of 
it,  —  and  it  is  only  where  this  impression  can  be  pro- 
duced better  without  the  punishment  than  with  it,  that 
there  can  be  any  safe  remission.  It  is  however  unques- 
tionably true,  and  all  parents  and  teachers  ought  to  keep 
it  in  mind,  that  where  any  serious  consequences  result 
from  an  offence,  those  consequences  in  a  wise  and  dex- 
terous government,  will  lighten,  not  increase  the  severity 
of  reproof  and  punishment.  They  go  far  towards  produ- 
cing the  very  impression  which  reproof  and  punishment 
are  intended  for,  and   consequently,  they  diminish  the 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  167 

Another  case.  The  students  and  the  joiners.  Mischief. 

necessity  of  it.  Those  parents  and  teachers,  who  take 
little  notice  of  offences  when  they  are  harmless,  and 
punish  them  with  severity  when  followed  by  accidental 
injury,  ought  to  perceive  that  they  are  not  administering 
moral  government,  but  only  gratifying  their  own  feelings 
of  resentment  and  revenge. 

In  the  case  we  have  just  described,  the  injurious  con- 
sequences were  not  voluntarily  assumed  by  the  innocent 
individual  in  order  to  allow  the  guilty  one  to  be  forgiven. 
They  came  upon  him  without  any  consent  of  his.  The 
following  case  is  different  in  this  respect.  The  persons 
who  suffered  the  injury  here,  voluntarily  assumed  it. 
The  case,  like  the  former,  is  described  exactly  as  it 
occurred. 

At  one  of  the  New  England  colleges,  not  many  years 
ago,  a  company  of  joiners  were  employed  in  erecting  a 
building.     A  temporary  shed   had  been  put   up  in  the 
college  yard,  where  the  work  went  on,  and  where,  at 
night,  the  tools  were  left,  protected  only  by  the  honesty 
of  the  neighborhood.     From  some  cause  or  other,  a  feud 
arose  between  some  of  the  workmen  and  the  students, 
and  the  next  day,  when  the  latter  came  to  their  work, 
they  found  their  tools  in  a  sad  condition.     Planes  were 
gapped  and   notched,  saws   dulled,  chisel-handles  split, 
and  augers  had  been  bored  into  the  ground.     The  indig- 
nation which  this  wanton  injury  excited,  threatened  very- 
serious  consequences.     Some  measure  of  retaliation  was 
expected  from  the  mechanics,  which  of  course  would  be 
repaid  again  by  the  students,  and  thus  it  was  feared  that 
a  deadly  and   permanent   hostility  would   be  produced. 
It  was  of  course  impossible  to  ascertain   the  authors  of 
the  mischief,  and  if  they  had  been  ascertained,  punish- 
ment would  probably  have  only  made  them  more  secret 
in  their  future  plans.     A  species   of  moral   substitution 
removed  the  difficulty  entirely.     The  plan  was  this. 
After  evening  prayers,   when  the  students  were  all 
14 


158  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6v 

The  proposed  substitution.  Its  eflects.  Moral  iiiipressioik 

assembled,  one  of  the  officers  stated  to  them  the  case, 
—  described  the  injury,  —  presented  an  estimate  of  its 
amount,  and  j)roj)osed  to  thtin  tliat  they  should  raise  by 
voluntary  contribution,  a  sum  sufficient  to  renmnerate 
the  injured  workmen.  "  Tiiere  is  no  claim  upon  you 
for  this,"  said  he;  "not  the  slightest.  The  mischief 
was  indeed  undoubtedly  done  by  some  of  you,  but  it  was 
certainly  by  a  very  small  number,  and  the  rest  are  not  in 
any  degree  responsible.  Still,  by  leaving  their  toids  so 
completely  exposed,  the  workmen  expressed  their  entire 
confidence  in  you.  This  confidence  must  now  be  shak- 
en; but  if  you  take  the  course  I  propose,  and  voluntarily 
bear  the  injury  yourselves,  you  will  say,  openly  and  pub- 
licly, that 'you  disavow  all  participation  in  the  otlence 
and  all  approval  of  it;  and  you  will  probably  prevent  its 
repetition.  Still,  however,  there  is  no  obligation  what- 
ever resting  upon  you,  to  do  any  thing  of  the  kind.  I 
make  only  a  suggestion  which  you  will  consider  and 
decide  upon,  as  you  please." 

The  students  were  then  left  to  themselves,  and  after 
a  few  minutes'  debate,  occasioned  by  a  slight  opposition 
from  a  few  individuals,  the  vote  was  carried  almost 
unanimously,  to  assume  the  injury  themselves.  The 
money  was  contributed  and  paid.  The  innocent  suffiir- 
ed,  and  the  guilty  went  free,  and  the  moral  effect  of  the 
transaction  was  most  happy.  The  whole  quarrel  was 
stopped  at  once.  The  tools  were  repaired,  and  left 
afterwards  in  perfect  safety,  though  as  unprotected  as 
before. 

It  ought  to  be  stated  however,  that  the  sum  necessary, 
was  a  very  trifling  one,  and  its  amount  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  moral  effect  of  the  transaction.  Any  officer 
would  have  paid  double  the  sum,  in  a  moment,  to  have 
ended  the  difficulty.  The  effect  was  not  produced  by 
the  reparation,  but  by  the  guilty  individuals  seeing  that 
their  innocent  companions  would  assume  the  consequenr 


Ch.  6.] 

PARDOxV. 

159 

Peculiarities  of  the  case. 

The  offenders  not  penitent. 

ces  of  their  guilt,  whatever  they  might  be.  It  was  not  a 
measure  of  ways  and  means,  but  of  moral  impression. 

This  case  seems  different  from  the  preceding,  in  two 
important  particulars.  The  first  is,  that  the  loss  was 
borne,  neither  by  the  offenders,  nor  by  the  magistracy, 
but  by  a  third  party,  not  directly  concerned  in  the  trans- 
action. The  second  is,  there  was  no  evidence  that  the 
offenders  were  penitent.  In  fact  the  plan  had  no  re- 
ference to  the  offenders  at  all.  Its  whole  aim  was  moral 
impression  upon  the  community.  They  escaped  in  this 
instance,  not  through  any  plan  formed  for  saving  them, 
but  through  the  imperfection  of  the  government,  which 
had  no  means  of  detecting  them.  They  were  not  for- 
given; they  simply  escaped.  Generally,  in  such  cases, 
the  plan  has  two  objects;  to  save  the  offender,  if  he  is 
penitent,  and  to  produce  the  right  moral  effect  upon  the 
community.  Here,  however,  the  former  was  no  part 
of  the  design;  it  was  the  latter  exclusively.  Had  they 
been  discovered,  and  found  to  be  still  unchanged  in 
heart,  justice  would  not  have  been  satisfied,  to  use  Dr. 
Johnson's  language,  without  their  punishment.  Still, 
the  other  great  design,  —  a  strong  moral  impression 
upon  the  community,  to  arrest  the  progress  of  sin,  and 
to  create  an  universal  feeling  against  it,  was  most  admir- 
ably secured  through  the  voluntary  consent  of  the  inno- 
cent, to  suffer  the  consequences  which  ought  justly  to 
be  borne  by  the  guilty. 

All  these  are  cases  in  which  a  person  is  relieved  from 
sufferings  which  he  deserves,  on  account  of  others,  but 
it  is  equally  in  accordance  with  universally  admitted 
principles  of  human  nature,  that  a  person  should  receive 
favors  which  he  does  not  deserve,  on  account  of  others. 
We  are  represented  as  not  only  forgiven  through  Jesus 
Christ,  but  as  receiving  every  blessing  and  favor  for  his 
sake.  This  seems  to  be  a  moral  substitution  of  a  little 
different  character,  but  it  is  exemplified  with  even  greater 


160                                        THE    CORNER-STONE. 

[Ch.  6. 

Favours  received  for  Christ's  sake. 

Illustration. 

frequency  in  human  life,  than  the  other.  There  calls  at 
your  dour,  late  at  night,  a  wandering  stranger,  and  asks 
admittance.  He  seems  destitute  and  wretched,  and  as 
it  is  not  convenient,  and  perhaps  not  even  safe,  to  admit 
him  into  your  family,  you  very  proj^rly  direct  him  to  a 
public  house  at  a  little  distance,  and  supply  him  with  the 
means  of  procuring  a  reception  there.  Just  as  he  is 
leaving  you,  you  think  you  recognise  something  familiar 
in  his  features,  and  on  inquiring  his  namu,  you  find  he 
is  the  son  of  one  of  your  dearest  and  earliest  friends. 
How  quick  do  you  change  your  plan,  and  bid  him  wel- 
come, and  endeavor  to  repay  by  your  hospitality  to  him, 
the  favors  you  received  in  days  long  past,  from  his 
father.  But  why  .'*  It  is  no  return  to  the  father.  He  is 
long  since  in  his  grave.  Why;  do  I  ask.''  There  is  an 
universal,  and  almost  instinctive  feeling  in  the  human 
heart,  leading  us,  under  certain  circumstances,  to  make 
such  moral  substitutions, —  to  show  favor  to  one,  on  ac- 
count of  obligation  to  another.  The  apostle  Paul  under- 
stood this  principle,  when  he  sent  back  Onesimus  to  his 
master,  and  endeavored  to  secure  for  him  a  kind  recep- 
tion by  saying,  "  If  thou  count  me  a  partner,  receive 
him  as  myself" 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  it  has  not  been  our 
object,  in  the  preceding  illustrations,  to  find  a  parallel 
among  human  transactions  for  the  great  plan  adopted 
in  the  government  of  God,  to  render  safe  the  forgive- 
ness of  human  sins.  Such  a  parallel,  precisely,  cannot 
be  found.  All  that  we  have  been  attempting  to  show  is, 
that  the  principles  upon  which  the  plan  is  based,  have  a 
deep  seated  foundation  in  the  very  constitution  of  the 
human  mind,  and  that  they  are  constantly  showing  them- 
selves, more  or  less  perfectly,  whenever  a  real  moral 
government  is  intelligently  administered  here.  We  must 
look  however  for  such  exemplifications  of  these  princi- 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  161 

Political  governments.  Moral  governments.  Differences. 

pies,  in  the  government  of  the  young,  for  in  no  other 
case  in  this  world,  is  a  government  properly  a  moial 
one.  The  administration  of  law  in  a  political  commu- 
nity, is  a  different  thing  altogether.  It  is  simply  the 
enforcement  of  a  system  of  rules  of  action,  designed 
almost  exclusively  for  the  prevention  of  injury.  In  a 
moral  government,  strictly  so  called,  one  mind  superior 
to  the  others,  presides  over  a  community  of  minds,  and 
acts  upon  them  in  his  administration  with  reference  to 
their  moral  welfare.  He  looks  beyond  mere  external 
action, —  adapts  his  measures  to  moral  wants  and  moral 
feelings, — and  aims  at  an  influence  over  hearts.  A  poli- 
tical government,  though  often  confounded  with  this,  is 
distinct  in  its  nature,  and  aims  at  different  objects.  It 
attempts  only  the  protection  of  the  community  against 
injury.  Its  province  is  to  regulate  external  actions,  not 
to  purify  and  elevate  the  feelings  of  the  heart;  and  it 
does  this  by  endeavoring  to  enforce  certain  prescribed 
rules,  relating  almost  exclusively  to  overt  acts,  and  de- 
signed merely  to  prevent  injury.  This  difference  iii  the 
nature  and  design  of  a  political  government,  and  of  a 
moral  government,  strictly  so  called,  is  fundamental,  and 
it  applies  with  peculiar  force  to  the  subjects  we  are  con- 
sidering. In  fact  there  is,  properly  speaking,  no  such 
thing  as  forgiveness,  in  human  jurisprudence.  Legal 
provision  is  indeed  made  for  what  is  called  pardon;  but 
this  is,  in  theory,  a  mode  of  arresting  punishment,  where 
evidence,  not  brought  forward  at  the  trial,  comes  to 
light  afterwards,  or  where  peculiar  circumstances  which 
the  strict  principles  of  law  could  not  recognise,  render  it 
equitable  to  remit  the  sentence.  In  practice,  it  goes 
indeed  sometimes  farther  than  this.  In  some  cases  the 
executive,  overcome  by  compassion  for  the  criminal, 
liberates  him,  at  the  risk  of  sacrificing  the  public  good. 
In  others,  by  a  common  though  tacit  understanding, 
pardons  are  granted  so  uniformly  in  certain  cases,  as  to 
14* 


162  TIIL    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

No  forgiveness  provided  for  by  hiiinan  laws. 

amount  to  a  permanent  modification  of  the  law.  But  all 
this  is  entirely  tliirercnt  from  real  forgiveness.  It  is,  in 
fact,  only  discretionary  power,  lodged  in  suitable  hands, 
to  modify  the  inflexible  decisions  of  law,  when  equity,  in 
peculiar  circumstances,  demands  their  modification, — 
it  is  not  real  forgiveness.  Real  forgiveness  in  political 
go^vernment  has  no  place.  We  must  look  therefore, 
among  the  young,  where  alone  we  tind  that  anything 
like  moral  training  is  the  object  of  government,  for  illus- 
trations of  the  principles  of  God's  administration.  We 
shall  find  them  however  here.  A  wise  parent  or  teach- 
er, who  acts  intelligently,  and  watches  the  operation  of 
moral  causes  and  etfects  upon  the  hearts  under  his  care, 
will  often,  though  perhaps  insensibly,  adopt  these  princi- 
ples, and  will  imitate,  almost  without  knowing  it,  the  plans 
of  the  great  Father  of  all.  We  certainly  shall  find  abun- 
dant examples  of  the  operation  of  those  principles  which 
we  have  been  endeavoring  to  bring  to  view:  viz.  that  the 
object  of  punishment  is  not  to  gratify  resentment  against 
an  individual,  but  desire  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the 
community;  that  it  cannot  safely  be  remitted,  unless 
there  is  something  to  take  its  place,  and  to  do  its  work, 
in  producing  moral  impression;  and  that  this  generally 
cannot  be  done  without  the  suffering  of  some  one  who  is 
innocent. 

We  have  dwelt  upon  this  subject  perhaps  long  enough 
already,  but  it  is  so  essential  to  the  peace  and  happiness 
of  the  young  Christian,  clearly  to  understand  it,  that  we 
will  present  it  in  one  other  point  of  view.  Let  us  sup- 
pose a  father,  when  sitting  with  his  children  around  his 
evening  fire,  accidentally  learns  that  one  of  them  has 
played  truant  during  the  day.  He  has  been  guilty  of 
the  same  offbnce  once  or  twice  before,  and  the  measures 
which  were  adopted  then,  have  proved  to  be  ineffectuaL 
Now  there  are  plainly  two  distinct  feelings  which  may 
lead  the  father  to  inflict  punishment:    I  mean  here  by 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  163 

Two  motives  for  punishment.  Tlieir  operation  in  this  case. 

punishment,  any  means  whatever  of  giving  him  pain, 
either  by  severe  reproof,  or  deprivation  of  enjoyment,  or 
direct  suffering.  There  are  two  distinct  feelings  which 
may  prompt  him  to  inflict  punishment.  First  he  may  be 
a  passionate  man,  and  feel  personal  resentment  against 
the  boy,  and  punish  him  under  the  influence  of  those 
feelings; —  a  case  exceedingly  common.  Secondly,  with- 
out feeling  any  resentment,  but  rather  looking  with  ten- 
der compassion  upon  his  son,  he  may  see  the  necessity 
of  doing  something  effectual  to  stop  this  incipient  sin, 
and  to  prevent  its  extending  to  his  other  children.  If 
now  the  former  is  the  father's  feeling, —  an  emotion  of 
resentment  and  passion,  on  account  of  the  trouble  which 
the  fault  has  caused,  and  is  likely  to  cause  him,  there  is 
no  hope  for  the  poor  offender; — resentment  can  only  be 
gratified  by  the  suffering  of  the  object  of  it.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  feeling  is  only  a  calm,  though  perhaps 
anxious  regard  for  the  moral  safety  and  happiness  of  his 
family,  there  is  some  hope;  for  punishment  in  this  case, 
would  only  be  resorted  to  on  account  of  its  promoting 
this  safety  and  happiness,  by  the  moral  impression  it 
would  make,  and  there  may  perhaps  be  some  other  way 
of  accomplishing  this  object.  But  let  us  look  at  this 
more  particularly. 

The  reason  why  truancy  is  so  serious  an  evil,  is  not 
the  loss  of  a  day  or  two  at  school,  now  and  then, —  or 
any  other  immediate  and  direct  consequence  of  it.  It 
is  because  it  is  the  beginning  of  a  long  course  of  sin;  it 
leads  to  bad  company,  and  to  deception,  and  to  vicious 
habits;  it  stops  the  progress  of  preparation  for  the  duties 
of  life,  and  hardens  the  heart,  and  opens  the  door  for 
every  temptation  and  sin,  which,  if  not  closed,  must 
bring  the  poor  victim  to  ruin.  These  are  what  consti- 
tute its  dangers.  Now  the  difficulty  with  the  boy  is, 
that  he  does  not  see  these  things.  He  is  spiritually 
blind,  and  argument  and   persuasion  will  not  open  his 


164  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Clj.  G, 

Substitute  for  punishineut.       Tlic  lalhcr'e  pluu.       Visit  to  the  {loorhouae. 

eyes.  Punishment  is  therefore  necessary  to  make  such 
an  impression  upon  his  mind  and  tliat  of  the  others,  as  to 
arrest  the  progress  of  the  sin.  It  may  be  confinement. 
It  may  be  some  disgrace  or  deprivation;  or  suffering  in 
any  other  form.  If  it  is  however  judiciously  administer- 
ed, and  in  a  proper  spirit,  it  must  have  an  effect,  and 
it  may  remove  tlie  evil  altogether. 

But  there  may  be  some  other  way  of  accomplishing 
the  object, —  that  is,  of  producing  the  needed  impression. 
Let  us  suppose  such  a  way.  Let  us  imagine  that  after 
learning  that  his  son  had  been  guilty  of  the  offence, 
the  father  gives  no  indications  of  resentment,  or  any 
other  personal  feeling,  but  begins  to  think  what  he  can 
do  to  arrest  the  evil,  without  bringing  sufl^ering  upon  his 
boy.  At  last  he  says,  "My  boys:  I  want  you  all  to 
understand  what  the  real  nature  of  truancy  is.  I  shall, 
however,  say  no  more  about  it  now,  but  to-morrow  I 
shall  wish  you  to  go  and  take  a  walk  with  me." 

The  boys  look  forward  with  eager  interest  to  the  time, 
and  when  it  arrives,  the  father  takes  them  to  a  neigh- 
boring poorhouse,  where  lies  a  man  sick,  and  suffering 
excruciating  pains  under  the  power  of  diseases  brought 
on  by  vice.  We  may  suppose  the  father  to  have  been 
accidentally  acquainted  with  the  case.  The  boys  enter 
the  large  and  dreary  apartment,  crowded  with  beds,  ten- 
anted by  misery  in  every  form;  for  there  is  an  apartment 
in  every  extensive  poorhouse,  where  you  may  see  the 
very  extreme  of  human  wo, —  the  last  earthly  stage  of 
the  broad  road, — where  life  lingers  in  forms  of  most 
excessive  misery,  as  if  to  show  how  much  the  mysterious 
principle  can  endure.  On  one  narrow  couch,  foaming 
mania  glares  at  you, —  on  another  lies  sightless,  sense- 
less, torpid  old  age,  a  picture  of  indescribable  decrep- 
itude and  deformity; —  from  a  third,  you  hear  the  groans 
and  see  the  restless  tossing  of  acute  suflfering, —  and 
gibbering  idiocy  laughs  upon  a  fourth,  with  a  noise  which 


Ch.  6.] 

PARDON. 

165 

The  scene. 

The  abandoned. 

Consequences  of  truancy. 

grates  more  harshly  upon  the  feelings  than  the  deepest 
groans. 

Into  such  a  scene  the  father  enters,  followed  by  his 
sons,  pale  and  trembling,  for  it  is  a  scene  which  they 
have  scarcely  nerve  to  endure.  The  attendant,  knowin<y 
whom  they  wish  to  see,  precedes  them,  guiding  them  to  a 
bed  in  the  corner,  where  lies  the  only  patient  in  the  room 
who  has  mind  enough  left  to  be  conscious  who,  and  what, 
and  where  he  is.  He  has  covered  his  head,  in  the  vain 
effort  to  hide  from  the  horrors  of  his  last  earthly  home. 
The  attendant  raises  the  corner  of  the  blanket  which 
covers  him,  and  the  visiters  see  there  a  haggard  face, 
with  its  two  glazed  and  motionless  eyes  rolled  up  towards 
them  and  staring  wildly  from  their  sunken  sockets. 

The  visiter  has  brought  the  wretched  patient  some 
little  comfort  or  luxury,  which  may  amuse  and  gratify 
him  a  moment,  though  it  cannot  reheve.  He  then  falls 
into  conversation  with  him,  and  the  boys  who  stand  by, 
learn  something  of  the  progress  and  the  termination  of  a 
life  of  vice  and  crime.  The  father  carries  him  back  to 
early  childhood,  and  learns  from  the  sufferer's  own  lips, 
that  truancy  and  the  bad  company  which  it  led  him  into, 
were  the  first  steps  of  his  wretched  course. 

Now  there  is  nothing  unnatural  in  all  this.  Precisely 
such  an  experiment  may  never  have  been  made,  but 
plans  for  producing  moral  impressions  exactly  analogous 
to  it,  have  been  successfully  adopted  a  thousand  times, 
and  every  reader  will  see  that  if  such  a  plan  were  adopt- 
ed, and  if  the  hearts  of  the  boys  were  in  such  a  state  as 
deeply  to  feel  it,  it  would,  in  this  case,  have  rendered  all 
farther  proceedings  unnecessary.  If  the  guilty  one's 
heart  was  really  touched  by  the  scene,  so  that  he  should 
go  home  penitent  and  humbled,  and  resolved  to  sin  no 
more,  it  would  be  perfectly  safe  to  forgive  him.  And 
the  point  to  be  kept  most  distinctly  in  view  in  the  case, 
—  the  point  which  it  is,  in  fact,  the  whole  design  of  the 


166  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

Moral  impression  made  by  tlie  death  of  Christ. 


case  to  illustrate,  is,  that  free  forgiveness,  wliicli  would 
be  dangerous  alone,  may  be  rendered  safe  by  measures 
ingeniously  and  judiciously  adopted,  which  shall  j)roduce 
the  same  moral  impression  upon  the  community  which 
punishment  would  have  made;  and  that  the  moral  Gov- 
ernor who  is  actuated  by  a  calm  regard  for  the  general 
good,  and  not  by  personal  resentment,  will  devise  such 
measures  if  he  can.  It  is  the  great  glory  of  the  gospel 
of  Jesus  Christ,  that  it  thus  provides  a  way  for  the  safe 
forgiveness  of  sin.  We  are  taken  to  the  cross,  and  we 
see  the  nature  and  effects  of  sin  there;  and  the  great 
sacrifice  which  was  made  on  Calvary,  goes  instead  of 
the  just  punishment  of  men,  to  make  that  great  moral 
impression  which  is  necessary  to  sustain  law,  and  satisfy 
justice,  and  arrest  the  consequences  of  sin. 

The  imaginary  case  we  have  been  describing,  is  evi- 
dently very  different  in  many  respects,  from  the  plan  of 
salvation  by  the  sacrifice  of  the  Son  of  God.  It  would 
have  resembled  it  more  closely  if,  instead  of  one  offender, 
we  had  supposed  two,  one  of  whom  should  be  affected 
and  led  to  penitence  by  the  scene  he  witnessed,  while 
the  other  remained  hard-hearted  and  stubborn.  The 
father  would  then  have  felt  compelled,  while  he  forgave 
the  one,  to  take  some  farther  measures  with  the  other. 
The  resemblance  would  have  been  closer  still,  if  instead 
of  showing  the  boys  some  existing  misery,  an  innocent 
brother  could,  in  some  mysterious  way,  himself  have 
voluntarily  assumed  for  a  time,  the  sufferings  which 
were  the  inevitable  consequences  of  the  sin.  These 
changes,  however,  and  many  others  designed  to  make  it 
correspond  more  closely  with  the  original,  do  not  alter 
its  nature,  or  touch  the  great  principle  which  it  brings 
to  view:  viz.  that  to  render  it  safe  to  forgive  sin,  some 
plan  must  be  divised,  for  producing,  by  other  means,  the 
moral  effects  for  which  punishment  is  intended. 

We  have,  in  former   chapters,  taken  a  view  of  two 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  167 

Extent  and  power  of  it  undeniable.  Its  present  influence. 

great  objects  for  which  the  Son  of  God  appeared  here, 
to  set  us  an  example,  and  to  teach  us,  by  precept,  our 
duty.  We  have  considered  the  nature  of  the  example, 
and  also  the  system  of  duty  which  he  held  up  to  men. 
We  now  come,  however,  to  look  at  another  great  design, 
far  greater,  probably,  than  either  of  those,  to  make,  by 
perfect  obedience  during  his  life,  and  the  sufferings  he 
endured  at  the  close  of  it,  such  an  exhibition  of  the 
nature,  and  the  effects  of  sin,  and  such  an  expiation  for 
human  transgressions,  as  should  render  it  safe  to  forgive 
all  who  are  penitent.  He  came,  in  other  words,  not  only 
to  teach  us  duty,  and  to  set  an  example  of  its  perform- 
ance, but  to  suffer  for  us,  and  to  make,  by  that  suffering, 
a  moral  impression  on  the  great  community  of  intelli- 
gent beings,  which  should  go  instead  of  our  punishment, 
and  render  it  safe  that  we  should  be  forgiven. 

It  has  made  such  an  impression.  It  is  now  eighteen 
centuries  since  that  death  occurred,  and  among  all  the 
varieties  of  opinion  which  have  been  adopted  in  regard 
to  it,  by  Atheist,  Deist,  and  Christian,  in  one  point  all 
must  agree,  that  the  death  of  Jesus  Christ  has  made  a 
stronger  impression  upon  the  human  race,  than  any  other 
transaction  .«ince  the  creation  of  the  world.  In  the  re- 
mote and  subjugated  province  where  it  occurred,  it  was 
witnessed,  indeed,  only  by  a  few  thousands,  and  they 
looked  upon  it  with  little  more  interest  than  would  have 
been  excited  by  the  execution  of  any  other  object  of 
popular  fury ;  they  perhaps  supposed  too,  that  in  a  few 
months,  it  would  be  forgotten.  But  no.  In  a  very  few 
weeks,  it  was  the  means  of  arresting  the  attention,  and 
subduing  the  hearts,  and  altering  the  characters  and  lives 
of  thousands.  The  tidings  of  the  transaction,  and  the 
explanation  of  it,  spread  like  a  flame.  The  walls  of  the 
city  could  not  confine  it;  the  boundaries  of  the  province 
could  not  confine  it.  The  influence  of  wealth,  and  the 
coercion  of  military  power,  were  equally  insufficient  to 


168  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6k 

Its  prospeclive  influence.  Necessity  of  atonement. 

stop  its  progress,  or  to  prevent  its  effects.  It  shook  the 
Roman  empire  to  its  foundations, —  and  now,  eighteen 
centuries  from  the  time  of  its  occurrence,  it  holds  ascen- 
dency over  more  hearts  than  it  ever  did  before,  and  it 
is  an  ascendency  which  is  widening,  deepening  and 
strengthening,  and  promises  to  spread  to  every  nation, 
and  to  every  family  on  the  globe. 

This  impression,  too,  is  of  the  right  kind.  A  know- 
ledge of  the  death  of  Christ,  with  the  explanation  of  it 
given  in  the  Scriptures,  touches  men's  hearts, —  it  shows 
the  nature  and  the  tendencies  of  sin, —  it  produces  fear 
of  God's  displeasure, —  and  resolution  to  return  to  duty, 
and  thus  produces  effects  by  which  justice  is  satisfied, 
and  the  authority  of  law  sustained,  far  better  in  fact, 
than  it  would  be  by  the  severest  punishment  of  the  guilty 
sinner. 

There  has  always  been  in  human  hearts,  a  feeling  of 
the  necessity  of  some  provision  to  render  safe  the  for- 
giveness of  sin.  Penitence  has  never  been  enough  to 
quiet  conscience.  Hence  self-inflicted  sufferings  and 
sacrifices  for  sin,  which  have  prevailed  in  every  age. 
The  latter  was  the  institution  established  by  divine 
authority  to  typify  the  great  sacrifice  which  was  to  come 
at  last.  But  though  established  by  divine  command,  it 
could  not  have  spread  so  far,  and  have  been  so  constantly 
and  universally  observed  by  men,  if  there  had  not  been 
some  strong  dnd  deeply  seated  feelings  in  the  human 
heart  with  which  it  chimed. 

Though,  as  the  Apostle  informs  us,  the  blood  of  bulls 
and  of  goats  could  not  take  away  sin,  that  is,  it  was  not 
sufficient  to  render  punishment  unnecessary,  still  the 
institution,  as  regulated  by  God's  commands  to  Moses, 
was  admirably  adapted  to  the  moral  condition  and  wants 
of  men.  One  of  the  most  brief  and  lucid  descriptions  of 
it  is  contained  in  the  following  passage. 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  169 

Sacrifices.  Reparation  required.  Sincere  repentance. 

*' And  the  Lord  spake  unto  Moses,  saying,  If  a  soul 
sin,  and  commit  a  trespass  against  the  Lord,  and  lie  unto 
his  neighbor  in  that  which  was  deUvered  him  to  keep,  or 
in  fellowship,  or  in  a  thing  taken  away  by  violence,  or 
hath  deceived  his  neighbor;  or  have  found  that  which 
was  lost,  and  lieth  concerning  it,  and  sweareth  falsely; 
in  any  of  all  these  that  a  man  doeth,  sinning  therein: 

Then  it  shall  be,  because  he  hath  sinned  and  is  guilty, 
that  he  shall  restore  that  which  he  took  violently  away, 
or  the  thing  which  he  hath  deceitfully  gotten,  or  that 
which  was  delivered  to  him  to  keep,  or  the  lost  thing 
which  he  found,  or  all  that  about  which  he  hath  sworn 
falsely:  he  shall  even  restore  it  in  the  principal,  and 
shall  add  the  fifth  part  more  thereto,  and  give  it  unto 
him  to  whom  it  appertaineth,  in  the  day  of  his  trespass 
offering. 

And  he  shall  bring  his  trespass  offering  unto  the  Lord, 
a  ram  without  blemish  out  of  the  flock,  with  thy  estima- 
tion, for  a  trespass  offering  unto  the  priest:  and  the  priest 
shall  make  an  atonement  for  him  before  the  Lord;  and  it 
shall  be  forgiven  him,  for  any  thing  of  all  that  he  hath 
done  in  trespassing  therein."     Leviticus  1:   1 — 7. 

The  first  thing  that  attracts  our  notice  in  this  provision 
is,  that  reparation,  —  full  reparation  for  all  the  injury, 
must  be  made,  as  the  first  step  towards  a  reconciliation 
with  God.  Another  interesting  thought  is,  that  the  ani- 
mal required  to  be  brought  for  the  sacrifice  was  one 
which  in  ordinary  cases  would  probably  be  an  object  of 
value  to  the  offender;  for  in  pastoral  life,  men  almost  love 
their  flocks  and  herds,  and  the  owner  of  the  innocent 
victim,  one  would  suppose,  could  not  see  its  blood  flow 
ing  for  his  sins,  without  being  moved.  Still,  however,  it 
was  not  chiefly  on  .-this  account,  i.  e.  the  direct  moral 
effect  of  the  transaction  upon  him,  that  the  sinner  was 
required  to  bring  his  offering,  but  it  was  to  remind  him 
15 


176  THE    CORNEU-STO.NE.  [Ch.  6, 

Principles  of  morul  guvcrnnient.  Applicutiuii  of  the  subject. 

habitually,  that  something  was  necessary  to  open  the 
way  for  his  forgiveness,  besides  mere  repentance  and 
reparation,  and  thus  to  bring  him  to  the  riglit  state  of 
heart  to  be  saved  by  means  of  the  real  proj)itiation  which 
was  at  length  to  be  made.  The  manner  in  which  David 
speaks  of  this  subject,  shows  that  it  was  generally  under- 
stood that  tliis  duty  was  not  intended  to  be  an  empty 
form.  "  Tliou  desirest  not  sacrifice,  else  would  1  give 
it;  thou  delightcst  not  in  burnt-otfering.  The  sacrifices 
of  God  are  a  broken  spirit:  a  broken  and  a  contrite 
heart,  O  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise."  Psalm,  51:  16,  17. 
We  have  now  accomplished  the  plan  which  we  had 
marked  out  for  this  chapter,  which  was  the  exhibition 
of  some  of  the  principles  upon  which  the  pardon  of  sin 
can  safely  be  bestowed.  These  principles  are  in  sub- 
stance as  follows.  The  design  of  God  in  connecting 
such  severe  and  lasting  sufferings  with  sin,  is  not  resent- 
ment against  the  sinner,  but  a  calm  and  benevolent 
interest  in  the  general  good.  He  wishes  no  one  to  suf- 
fer, and  has  accordingly  provided  a  way  by  which  he 
can  accomplish  more  perfectly  what  would  have  been 
accomplished  by  the  inflexible  execution  of  the  law. 
By  this  means,  the  way  is  open  for  our  forgiveness,  if 
we  are  penitent  for  our  sins.  The  circumstances  of  this 
sacrifice  will  be  considered  more  fully  in  a  subsequent 
chapter;  the  design  of  this  has  been  only  to  explain 
some  of  the  acknowledged  principles  on  which  the  ne- 
cessity of  it  is  grounded.  This  object  is  now  accon>- 
plished;  but  before  closing  the  chapter,  we  wish  to 
devote  a  few  pages  to  turning  this  subject  to  a  practical 
account. 

There  are  a  great  many  persons  to  whose  wounded 
spirits,  the  truths  advanced  here  would  be  balm,  if  they 
would  apply  them.  Many  a  thoughtful  reader  of  such  a 
work  as  this,  is  often  in  a  state  of  mental  anxiety  and 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  171 

Address  to  the  inquirer.  Source  of  anxiety.  Remedy. 

suffering,  which  the  subject  of  this  chapter  is  exactly 
calculated  to  relieve.  You  feel  that  you  are  a  great 
sinner,  and  though  this  feeling  produces  no  powerful 
8ttid  overwhelming  conviction,  it  still  destroys  your  peace, 
and  fills  you  with  uneasiness,  which,  though  it  may 
be  sometimes  interrupted,  returns  again  with  increased 
power,  at  every  hour  of  reflection,  and  especially  in  sol- 
itude. You  wish  you  were  a  Christian,  you  say.  I  will 
suppose  that  you  really  do.  Many  persons  who  say 
that,  really  mean  only  that  they  wish  for  the  benefits  of 
piety,  not  for  piety  itself  They  would  like  the  rewards 
of  the  Savior,  but  they  do  not  like  his  service.  I  will 
suppose,  however,  that  you  really  wish  to  be  his.  It  is 
possible  that  you  do,  and  yet  you  may  not  have  found 
peace;  you  think  there  is  some  love  for  the  Savior  in 
your  heart,  some  interest  in  his  cause,  some  desire  to 
serve  him,  and  yet  do  not  feel  relieved  from  the  burden 
of  sins,  and  are  not  cheered  with  the  spiritual  peace  and 
joy  which  beam  in  the  hearts  of  others.  Now  the  cause 
of  your  restless  unhappiness,  is  a  burdened  conscience; 
—  a  burdened  conscience.  There  is  a  sort  of  instinctive 
feeling,  or  if  not  instinctive,  it  is  interwoven  with  all  the 
inmost  sentiments  of  the  soul,  that  guilt  deserves  pun- 
ishment. You  feel  that  you  are  guilty.  You  know 
that  God  is  an  efficient  governor, —  a  God  of  terrible 
majesty, — for  whatever  men  may  say,  there  is  something 
in  the  heart,  which  testifies  that  it  is  an  evil  and  bitter 
thing  to  sin  against  God,  and  that  the  soul  which  gives 
itself  up  to  sin,  must  expect  to  feel  the  weight  of  divine 
displeasure.  You  know  this,  and  you  feel  it,  and  though 
you  ask  forgiveness,  you  do  not  realize  that  it  can  safe- 
ly be  bestowed.  Now  the  remedy  is  simple,  and  effect- 
nal.  It  is  for  you  to  come  in  faith  to  the  cross  of 
Jesus  Christ. 

Let  me  explain  precisely  what  I  mean  by  this.     Your 
ccMQscience  is  uneasy,  being   burdened   by  the  load  of 


172  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

Anxiety  needlens.  Redemption  fully  purchased. 

your  past  sins.  Perhaps  you  do  not  distinctly  fear  pun- 
ishment, but  it  is  the  sense  of  responsibility  for  sin,  and 
an  untletincd  dread  of  something  that  is  yet  to  come, 
which  really  destroys  your  rest.  Now  why  have  you 
any  thing  to  fear.'*  Why  should  God  ever  call  you  to 
account  for  those  sins.'*  It  must  be  either  from  personal 
resentment  against  you,  or  else  because  the  welfare  of 
his  government,  requires  the  execution  of  his  law  upon 
you.  There  cannot  be  any  thing  like  llie  former,  you 
know.  It  must  be  the  latter,  if  either.  Now  the  balm 
for  your  wounded  5;^irit  is  this,  that  the  moral  impression 
in  respect  to  the  nature  and  tendencies  of  sin,  which  is 
the  only  possible  reason  God  can  have,  for  leaving  you 
to  suffer  its  penalties,  is  accomplished  far  better  by  the 
life  and  death  of  his  Son ;  and  if  you  are  ready  to  aban- 
don sin  for  the  future,  there  is  no  reason  whatever  re- 
maining, why  you  should  be  punished  for  the  past.  God 
never  could  have  wished  to  punish  you  for  the  sake  of 
doing  evil,  and  all  the  good  which  he  could  have  accom- 
plished by  it,  is  already  effected  in  another  and  a  better 
way.  Now  believe  this  cordially.  Give  it  full  control 
in  your  heart.  Come  to  God  and  ask  for  forgiveness  on 
this  ground.  Trust  to  it  fully.  If  you  do,  you  will  feel 
that  the  account  for  the  past  is  closed  and  settled  for 
ever.  You  are  free  from  all  responsibility  in  regard  to 
it.  Ransomed  by  your  Redeemer,  the  chains  of  doubt 
and  fear  and  sin  fall  off,  and  you  stand,  free,  and  safe, 
and  happy,  a  new  creature,  in  Jesus  Christ, —  redeemed 
by  his  precious  blood,  and  henceforth  safe  under  his 
mighty  protection. 

This  change,  bringing  to  a  close  the  old  responsibili- 
ties for  sin,  and  commencing  as  it  were,  a  new  life  in  the 
Savior,  that  is,  by  an  intimate  union  of  spirit  with  him, 
is  very  clearly  described  in  many  passages  of  scripture 
like  the  following;  which,  however,  you  have  perhaps 
often  read  without  understanding  it.     "I  am  crucified 


Ch,  6.]  PARDON.  173 

Faith  necessary.  Difference  between  faith  and  belief.  The  electric  machine. 

with  Christ;  nevertheless  I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ 
liveth  in  me,  and  the  life  I  now  live  in  the  flesh,  I  live 
by  faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  loved  me,  and  gave 
himself  for  me."  To  receive  these  benefits,  you  must 
have  faith.  Faith  means  confidence;  not  merely  cold, 
intellectual  conviction,  but  confidence, —  a  feeling  of  the 
heart.  To  show  this  distinction  clearly,  imagine  a  man 
unaccustomed  to  such  an  elevation,  to  be  taken  to  the 
summit  of  some  lofty  spire,  and  asked  to  step  out  from 
an  opening  there,  upon  a  narrow  board,  suspended  by 
ropes  over  the  dizzy  height.  How  will  he  shrink  back 
instinctively,  from  it.  Explain  to  him  the  strength  of  the 
ropes,  show  him  their  size,  and  convince  him  by  the  most 
irresistible  evidence  that  they  have  abundant  strength  to 
support  many  times  his  weight.  Can  you  make  him 
willing  to  trust  himself  to  them?  No.  But  the  builder, 
whose  confidence  in  the  suspended  scaffolding  has  been 
established  by  experience,  stands  upon  it  without  fear, 
and  looks  down  to  the  stony  pavement  a  hundred  feet 
below,  with  an  unmoved  and  steady  eye.  Now  you  must 
have  such  faith  in  Christ's  sufferings  and  death,  as  not 
merely  to  admit  their  efficacy,  but  to  trust  yourself  to  it. 

A  father  was  once  amusing  a  number  of  children  with 
an  electric  machine,  and  after  one  or  two  had  touched 
the  knob  and  received  the  shock,  they  drew  back  from 
the  apparatus,  and  looked  upon  it  with  evident  dread. 
The  father  presently  held  out  to  them  the  jar,  uncharged, 
and  consequently  harmless,  and  said  distinctly,  but  with- 
out emphasis,  "  If  you  touch  it  now,  you  will  feel  noth- 
ing.    Who  will  try?  " 

The  children  drew  back  with  their  hands  behind  them. 

"  You  do  not  believe  me,"  said  he. 

*'Yes  sir,"  said  they,  with  one  voice;    and  several 

hands  were  held  out  to  prove  their  fa'th ;  but  they  were 

quickly  withdrawn,  before  reaching  the  dangerous  knob. 

One  alone,  a  timid  little  girl,  had  that  kind  of  confidence 

15* 


174  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6. 

Christian  faith.  Doubts  and  fears.  The  way  to  find  peace. 

in  her  father  which  led  her  really  to  trust  to  him.  The 
rest  believed  his  word,  hut  had  not  heartfelt  faith  in  it. 
Even  the  little  believer's  i'aith  was  not  unwavering. 
You  could  see  on  her  face,  when  the  little  knuckle  ap- 
proached the  harmless  brass  ball,  a  slight  expression  of 
anxiety,  showing  that  she  had  some  doubts  and  fears 
after  all;  and  tlicrc  was  an  evident  feeling  of  relief, 
when  slie  touched  the  knob,  and  found,  from  actual  trial, 
that  her  father's  word  was  true,  and  that  there  was  really 
nothing  there. 

This  last  is  christian  faith  exactly.  It  not  only  believes 
what  the  Savior  says,  but  it  acts  in  reliance  upon  it. 
It  trusts  to  Christ,  and  throws  itself  upon  him,  and  tries 
to  hush  its  remaining  fears,  and  to  feel  fully  the  confi- 
dence which  it  knows  is  deserved.  Still  there  will  be 
too  often  a  slight  misgiving  —  a  hesitating  fear,  alter- 
nating and  mingling  with  its  confidence  and  love, —  and 
expressing  itself  in  the  prayer,  "  Lord,  I  believe,  help 
thou  mine  unbelief"  There  ought  not  to  be,  however, 
the  slightest  misgiving.  It  is  sinful  and  unreasonable, 
even  in  the  least  possible  degree. 

Come  at  once  then  to  the  cross  of  Christ  with  faith  in 
it.  Real  heartfelt  confidence  in  its  efficacy  in  taking 
away  all  the  necessity  for  punishment,  if  you  are  only 
ready  now  to  abandon  sin.  If  you  do  this,  you  may  be 
sure  that  peace  and  happiness  will  come. 

This  will  give  you  peace,  but  nothing  else  will.  So 
deeply  in  the  human  heart  has  God  laid  the  feeling,  that 
sin  must  bring  suff*ering  in  its  train,  that  you  cannot  get 
rid  of  the  burden  of  responsibility  for  the  past,  but  in  this 
way.  You  may  forget  it  for  a  time,  you  may  drown  it 
by  the  excitements  of  business,  or  of  pleasure,  but  the 
poison  will  remain,  rankling  more  and  more,  and  the 
more  clearly  you  see  your  sins,  and  the  more  deep  your 
repentance,  the  more  distinctly  will  you  feel  that  repent- 
ance alone,  can  never  authorize  their  remission.     We 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  175 

Justified  by  the  law.  Lasting  effects  of  sin.  Example. 

cannot  be  justified  by  any  deeds  of  the  law;  that  is,  we 
cannot  be  pardoned,  —  considered  just, —  by  any  thing 
we  can  do  in  obedience  to  the  law.  We  must  be  justi- 
fied by  faith, — if  we  are  to  enjoy  real  peace  with  God,  it 
must  be  through  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord,  who  gave  him- 
self for  us,  that  we  might  be  reconciled  to  God  through 
the  propitiation  he  has  made  for  our  sins. 

When  a  person  first  commences  his  course  as  a  moral 
agent,  he  then,  indeed,  has  before  him,  obedience  or  dis- 
obedience, and  if  he  obeys,  he  is  then  justijied  by  the  law. 
The  phrase  is  almost  a  technical  one,  but  the  meaning  is 
obvious.  He  keeps  the  law,  and  on  account  of  this  obe- 
dience he  stands  innocent  and  safe.  He  is  safe  from  all 
charges  of  guilt,  from  all  the  consequences  of  guilt.  He 
enjoys  peace  of  mind,  and  a  quiet  conscience,  which  re- 
sult from  his  own  moral  excellence,  his  strict  obedience 
to  the  law.  He  is  justified  by  works,  and  can  have  no 
place  for  repentance,  and  no  need  of  a  Savior. 

If,  however,  he  has  once  committed  sin,  his  character 
and  standing  are  for  ever  changed.  He  is,  and  must  be, 
henceforward  on  a  difterent  footing.  Common  sense 
tells  us  this; — for  suppose,  among  the  spotless  angels 
around  God's  throne,  there  was  one  who,  millions  of 
years  ago,  on  one  single  occasion,  fell  into  a  passion,  or 
yielded  his  heart  to  the  dominion  of  any  other  sin.  Sup- 
pose that  he  was  brought  immediately  to  repentance, 
and  returned  to  duty,  and  never  afterwards  transgressed, 
and  that  God  forgave  him  his  sin,  how  evident  it  is,  that 
the  moral  attitude  in  which  he  stands  must  thenceforth 
be  different  from  that  of  all  the  others.  How  difljerently 
would  he  be  looked  upon!  How  differently  must  he  for 
ever  feel!  The  recollection  would  follow  him,  and  some- 
thing like  a  sense  of  responsibility  would  follow  him, — 
a  burden  which  no  lapse  of  time,  and  no  subsequent 
obedience  could  remove. 

It   would  be,   so  too,  under  any  other  government. 


176  THE    CORNER-STONE.  '  [Ch.  6, 

The  sinning  child.  Change  in  his  inorul  position.  Justification. 

Even  where  tlie  sin  is  entirely  forgiven,  it  places  the  sin- 
ner on  permanently  diflerent  ground.  Among  a  family 
of  adectionate  children,  suppose  that  one  should,  on  a 
single  occasion,  rebel  against  his  father,  and  introduce 
for  one  day,  derangement  and  suflering  into  the  usually 
happy  circle.  The  father  takes  such  measures  as  to 
bring  him  back  immediately  to  repentance  and  submi»- 
aion,  and  he  is  forgiven;  freely  and  fully  forgiven, —  and 
yet  how  plain  it  is  that  the  next  morning,  when  the 
family  are  about  to  separate  from  the  breakfast  table,  to 
engage  in  the  various  duties  of  the  day,  that  this  return- 
ing and  forgiven  sinner,  stands  in  a  moral  attitude  en- 
tirely different  from  the  rest.  lie  feels  differently;  his 
brothers  feel  towards  him  differently;  his  father  looks 
upon  him  with  new  and  altered  thoughts.  The  evil  con- 
sequences of  his  sin  are  perhaps  all  over, —  for  his  father 
may  have  remedied  them  all.  The  guilt  of  it  is  all 
gone, —  for  if  he  is  really  penitent,  he  is  renewed  and 
strengthened  in  his  feeling  of  affectionate  submission  to 
his  father.  But  something  remains.  It  is  not  resent- 
ment against  him ; —  his  father  and  his  brothers  love  him 
even  more  than  before.  It  is  not  suspicion; — they  feel 
increased  confidence  in  him,  knowing  that  the  bitter 
lesson  that  he  has  learned,  will  save  him  from  wan- 
dering again.  It  is  not  alienation  of  any  kind, —  their 
hearts  are  bound  more  closely  to  him  than  ever,  and  you 
will  see  that  there  is  a  tone  of  greater  kindness,  and  a 
look  of  greater  affection,  from  father  and  mother,  to  this 
their  returning  son,  than  if  he  had  not  sinned  and  been 
forgiven.  What  is  it,  then,  that  remains?  It  is  hard  to 
describe  it,  but  the  heart  testifies  that  there  is  something 
which  places  him  in  h  new  position,  and  gives  to  the 
affection  of  which  he  is  an  object,  a  peculiar  character. 
He  is  justified;  that  is,  there  no  longer  rests  upon  him 
the  responsibilities  of  guilt, —  but  he  is  not  justified 
by  his  obedience, —  by  the  deeds  of  the  law.     He  has 


Gh.  6.]  PARDON.  177 

Peace  of  conscious  rectitude.  Peace  of  forgiveness* 

violated  law,  and  wandered  from  duty,  and  yet  he  is 
justified  and  lovec*  again. 

Sin  therefore,  even  if  it  is  sincerely  repented  of  and 
entirely  forgiven,  places  the  soul  which  has  committed 
it,  in  a  new  and  peculiar  attitude.  If  peace  returns,  it 
is  not  the  peace  of  conscious  rectitude;  it  is  the  peace 
o£  forgiveness, —  of  reconciliation ;  —  as  perfect  as  the 
other,  but  of  a  different  kind.  This  distinction  is  clear. 
Every  one  who  looks  into  his  own  heart  will  see  it.  The 
two  kinds  of  justification  and  of  peace  are  brought  to  view 
continually  in  the  New  Testament,  where  almost  every 
form  of  contrast  and  antithesis  is  employed  to  set  one  over 
against  the  other,  in  order  to  give  point  and  prominence 
to  the  distinction.  It  is  of  immense  importance,  that  the 
young  Christian  should  consider  this,  so  that  he  may 
clearly  understand  which  kind  of  peace  and  happiness  he 
is  to  seek. 

Forgiveness;  the  proud,  unsubdued,  and  restless  spirit 
of  the  world  knows  not  what  it  means;  but  he  who  has 
experienced  the  enjoyment  which  springs  from  it,  feels 
that  it  is  the  richest  and  deepest  fountain  of  human  hap- 
piness. The  heart  renewed,  —  sin  throwing  down  its 
weapons  and  escaping  from  the  temple  which  it  has  made 
wretched  so  long,  —  God  reconciled, — the  soul  over- 
flowing with  the  emotions  of  gratitude  and  love,  to  which 
the  contrast  of  past  indifference  and  enmity  gives  a 
character  of  warmth  and  vividness,  which  they  can 
never  know  who  have  never  sinned, —  the  past,  gloomy 
and  dark  as  it  is,  all  forgiven, —  the  future,  bright  and 
alluring  with  promised  enjoyments,  which  are  prized  the 
more  as  the  free  unmerited  gifts  of  infinite  love, —  these 
are  some  of  the  feelings  which  mingle  in  the  heart  which 
is  reconciled  to  God.  Others  lie  too  deep  for  descrip- 
tion; they  must  be  experienced  to  be  known;  but  they 
who  know  them  will  testify,  that  in  the  sense  of  penitence 
and  pardon,  where  it  has  full  possession  of  the  soul,  there 


178  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  6, 

Joys  of  forgiveness.  The  sting  of  sin.  Tlieir  |)erjnanencek 

are  fountains  of  as  pure  and  deep  enjoyment  as  the  heart 
can  contain.  The  soul  rests  in  it,  bathes  itself  in  it, 
as  it  were,  with  contented  and  peaceful  delight.  Other 
enjoyments  are  restless  and  unsatisfying.  This  fills  the 
soul,  and  leaves  it  nothing  to  wish  for  but  to  be  undis- 
turbed. It  is  hardly  proper  for  us  to  inquire  why  sin  was 
permitted  to  enter  the  government  of  God;  but  this  we 
can  see,  that  it  has  opened  a  fountain  of  enjoyment  en- 
tirely unknown  before.  It  has  brought  happiness  which, 
without  it,  could  not  have  been  felt,  upon  the  earth,  and 
it  has  even  introduced  a  new  song  into  heaven. 

But  this  is  a  digression  from  our  path.  We  were  en- 
deavoring to  show  that  sin  necessarily  places  the  soul 
which  has  fallen  a  prey  to  it,  in  a  new  position.  Even 
where  it  is  forgiven,  the  moral  attitude  in  which  the 
sinner  stands  is  permanently  changed.  This  is,  however, 
not  the  consideration  with  which  we  are  here  chiefly 
concerned.  We  wish  rather  to  show  the  change  it 
produces  in  the  relation  which  the  soul  sustains  to  its 
Maker,  before  it  is  forgiven.  Let  us  return  then  to  our 
supposition,  and  imagine  that  the  father,  in  the  case  of 
his  disobedient  son,  had  not  taken  such  measures  as  to 
render  it  safe  for  the  boy  to  be  forgiven.  There  will 
then  remain  upon  the  guilty  mind,  a  burden,  which  can- 
not be  taken  off,  though  other  objects  and  interests  may 
come  in  and,  in  time,  hide  it  from  his  view.  It  is  thus 
perhaps  gradually  forgotten,  but  it  is  not  removed.  It 
remains  like  a  fragment  of  a  weapon  in  a  wound,  per- 
haps seldom  noticed  or  felt;  but  it  is  there,  and  when 
memory  brings  it  back  to  view,  it  sends  a  pang  of  re- 
morse to  the  inmost  soul.  Many  persons  carry  such  sins 
upon  their  consciences  all  through  life.  Some  transgre^ 
sion  was  committed  in  early  youth,  which  has  been  a 
thousand  times  forgotten,  and  a  thousand  times  called 
back  by  memory  to  view,  and  every  time  it  comes,  the 


Ch.  6.] 

PARDON. 

179 

A  wounded  spirit. 

The  way  to  find  peace. 

The  Saviorw 

heart  sinks,  and  the  spirit  writhes,  under  the  rankling  of 
the  wound. 

Such  is  sin.  It  is  a  barbed  and  poisoned  arrow,  which 
if  once  allowed  to  enter,  will  penetrate  deeper  and  deep- 
er, and  will  remain,  unless  removed  by  a  moral  treat- 
ment adapted  to  the  moral  constitution  of  man;  and  the 
wound  cannot  be  healed  till  the  sin  is  taken  away.  You 
may  cover  it  up;  you  may  forget  it,  you  may,  like  a 
man  with  a  wounded  side,  take  care  to  keep  the  tender 
part  from  the  slightest  touch  which  may  disturb  its  quiet, 
—  but  the  wound  is  still  there,  and  it  cannot  be  healed, 
till  the  sting  which  was  left  in  it,  is  taken  away. 

Now  this,  my  reader,  is  your  case.  Sin  has  reigned 
in  your  heart,  and  consequently  the  peace  and  satisfac- 
tion of  perfect  obedience  are  gone  for  ever;  and  such  is 
the  moral  constitution  of  the  soul,  that  there  is  no  peace 
left  for  you,  but  that  of  forgiveness  and  reconciliation. 
This  cannot  come  through  mere  repentance, —  or  con- 
fession,—  or  reform.  It  cannot  come  by  these  means,  in 
any  case  of  sin  or  crime  whatever.  A  thief  who  should 
be  pardoned  by  government,  and  become  truly  penitent, 
and  firmly  re-established  in  the  principles  of  integrity, 
would  not,  and  could  not  through  these  alone,  be  restored 
to  happiness,  even  as  a  citizen.  The  memory  of  the 
past  would  be  bitterness  and  gall,  and  though  he  might 
gradually  forget  his  wound,  he  could  never  by  such 
remedies  be  made  whole;  if  he  had  nothing  else  to  save 
him,  he  would  carry  the  galling  and  heavy  burden  to 
his  grave.  And  you,  if  you  are  to  find  real  peace,  real 
deliverance  from  the  burdens  of  sin,  must  find  it  in  clear 
views  of  a  Savior  crucified  for  you,  and  in  coming  to 
him  with  faith — i.  e.  cordial,  unhesitating  confidence, 
that  he  is  able  and  willing  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all 
who  come  unto  God  through  him.  You  must  feel  that, 
by  his  life  and  sufferings  and  death,  he  has  accomplished 
all  which  would  have  been  effected  bv  the  punishment 


180  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  d. 

Peace  and  pardon.         Penitence  essential  to  pardon.         Peace  deferred. 

due  to  your  sins,  and  that  henceforth  you  may  go  free, 

safe  and  ha|)|)y  in  liini,  the  past  remitted  for  ever, —  and 
the  path  of  lioHncss  and  peace  now  opened  broadly  before 
you,  and  inviting  you  on. 

We  must  make  a  clear  distinction,  however,  between 
peace  and  pardon.  Cases  are  constantly  occurring, 
where  a  person  who,  from  peculiar  circunif^tances,  has 
obscure  or  clouded  views  of  the  nature  of  forgiveness, 
and  the  necessity  of  a  Savior,  is  still  really  penitent  for 
sin.  If  penitent,  he  will  be  forgiven,  in  fact  he  is  for- 
given, though  it  may  be,  as  it  very  often  is,  weeks  and 
months,  and  even  years,  before  he  sees  so  clearly  the 
nature  of  redemption  through  the  Son  of  God,  as  to  have 
peace  and  happiness  restored  to  his  heart.  The  great 
point  is,  to  induce  sinners  to  return  to  God,  and  to  give 
their  hearts  to  him.  If  they  do  it  right,  they  will  be 
humble,  and  watcliful,  and  prayerful,  and  God  will  guide 
them  to  all  truth;  but  there  are  many  instances  where 
peace  to  the  troubled  spirit  is  long  delayed.  The  little 
child  may  begin  to  love  its  Maker,  before  it  knows  any 
thing  about  the  way  of  safe  forgiveness:  so  may  a  half- 
instructed  pagan:  so  did  in  fact  the  Savior's  disciples; 
they  thought  their  master  was  to  have  redeemed  his 
country  by  political  power,  until  they  actually  saw  him 
crucified;  and  even  in  christian  countries,  a  soul  maybe 
often  so  shut  away  from  tfie  light  and  influences  of  the 
gospel  in  their  purity  and  power,  as  to  feel  after  a  Sav- 
ior a  long  time,  in  vain.  Moral  renewal  is  the  essential 
thing  for  par'don.  A  knowledge  of  the  salvation  by 
Jesus  Christ,  and  clear  ideas  of  the  great  sacrifice  for 
sin,  give  peace.  St.  Paul,  the  ablest,  the  most  powerful 
and  thorougli-going  preacher  of  the  cross,  that  ever  lived, 
understood  tliis,  when,  standing  before  the  august  as- 
sembly at  Athens,  he  preached  simple  repentance,  and 
a  judgment  to  come.  Nay,  we  have  higher  authority 
still,  for  Jehovah  himself  sent  priests  and  prophets,  for 


Ch.  6.]  PARDON.  181 

John  Bunyan's  view.  Christian  at  the  Cross. 

four  thousand  years,  simply  to  call  upon  his  people  to 
repent  of  sin  and  do  their  duty;  they  made  but  a  very 
few  obscure  allusions  to  a  Savior, —  so  obscure  that  they 
were  not  understood  till  that  Savior  came. 

John  Bunyan  has  beautifully  exhibited  this  view,  by 
making  Christian  carry  his  burden  long  after  he  has 
entered  the  narrow  way.  His  face  was  turned  towards 
Zion,  and  though  he  fell  into  many  sins,  and  encoun- 
tered many  difficulties,  his  heart  was  changed.  He  felt 
the  burden  of  sin,  and  sought  relief  from  a  friend  whom 
he  found  on  the  way.  But  the  friend  replies,  "  Be  con- 
tent to  bear  it,  till  thou  comest  to  the  place  of  deliver- 
ance, for  there  it  will  fall  from  thy  back  of  itself " 

This  burden,  now,  was  not  the  burden  of  existing  sin, 
but  of  responsibility  for  past  sin.  If  it  had  been  the 
former,  the  guide  would  have  given  him  very  sad  advice. 
No,  it  was  not  the  present  pollution  of  sin,  but  its  past 
responsibilities  which  became  so  heavy  a  burden,  and 
though  his  heart  was  renewed,  and  he  was  in  the  right 
way,  it  was  sometime  before  he  came  so  near  to  the  cross 
of  Christ,  as  to  understand  and  feel  its  power  in  relieving 
his  conscience  of  its  load.  He  went  on  afterwards  with 
light  and  happy  steps. 

The  great  question  then,  with  every  religious  inquirer 
is,  whether  you  have  found  penitence,  not  whether  you 
have  found  peace.  Do  you  Relinquish  sin?  Are  you 
weary  of  it,  and  do  you  loathe  and  abhor  it,  on  its  owq 
account,  as  an  evil  and  bitter  thing,  from  which  you  can 
sincerely  pray  to  be  freed.  There  is  a  burden  resting 
upon  you,  which  still  destroys  your  rest,  and  while  your 
heart  has  really  returned  to  God,  and  you  can  find  no 
happiness  but  in  him,  you  wonder  that  you  continue 
wounded  and  miserable,  instead  of  finding  the  relief  at 
once,  which  you  hoped  penitence  would  bring.  You  con- 
clude, therefore,  that  you  are  not  penitent,  though  you 
are  almost  conscious  that  you  are  so;  and  you  sink,  over- 
16 


|8S  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  6, 

The  way  to  remove  ihe  burden.  Come  to  tlie  Sarior. 

whelmed  with  the  difficulties  of  understanding  the  move- 
ments and  the  condition  of  your  own  heart.  You  feel  a 
burden,  and  think  it  must  be  the  burden  of  guilt. 

If  your  heart  is  really  in  the  condition  I  have  describ- 
ed, it  is  the  burden  of  responsibility  for  past  sins,  which 
hangs  over  you  and  bows  you  down,  though  your  heart 
is  really  renewed,  and  consequently  you  are  freed,  in 
some  degree,  from  its  present  power.  The  remedy  is 
the  cross  of  Christ.  Come  to  it,  and  see  what  he  has 
done  and  suffered  for  you.  Look  at  the  moral  effect  of 
this  great  sacrifice,  and  feel  that  it  takes  off"  all  the  ne- 
cessity of  punishment,  and  all  the  burden  of  your  guilt 
Come  and  trust  to  this.  Seek  union  Avith  Christ,  so 
as  to  be  one  with  him,  and  open  your  heart  to  the  full 
admission  of  his  assurance,  that  you  may,  through  this 
union,  have  all  past  responsibilties  ended  for  ever,  and 
that  all  the  blessings  which  his  unfailing  obedience  and 
spotless  perfection  have  deserved,  may  flow  in  upon  you. 
But  oh,  remember,  if  you  do  thus  come  and  give  your- 
self to  your  Savior,  going  free  from  the  bitter  fruits  of 
sin,  through  his  sufferings,  and  expecting  to  enter  your 
home  in  heaven,  under  his  protection,  and  in  his  name, — 
remember  that  giving  yourself  up  to  him,  must  not  be 
an  empty  form.  Christ  gave  himself  for  us,  not  to  have 
us  go  on  in  sin,  after  receiving  its  forgiveness,  but  to 
redeem  us  from  all  iniquity,  and  to  purify  unto  himself,  a 
peculiar  people.  If  you  hope  for  pardon  in  this  way, 
you  must  give  up  the  world  and  sin  entirely,  and  for  ever. 
Henceforth,  its  allurements  and  temptations  must  be 
nothing  to  you.  You  must  say,  in  language,  which,  like 
a  great  many  other  passages,  on  every  page  of  the  New 
Testament,  is  dark  to  those  who  have  not  experienced 
its  meaning.  "  I  am  crucified  with  Christ,  nevertheless 
I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me:  and  the  life 
which  I  now  live  in  the  flesh,  I  live  by  the  faith  of  the 
Son  of  God,  who  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me." 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  183 

Plan  of  this  work.  Analysis  of  preceding  chapters. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     LAST     SUPPER. 
"  I  have  desired  to  eat  this  passover  with  you,  before  I  suffer." 

The  plan  which  has  been  followed  in  the  progress  of 
this  work,  may  not  have  been  very  obvious  to  the  reader. 
It  was  our  design  to  present  the  great  elementary  truths 
of  the  religion  of  the  gospel,  as  they  naturally  connect 
themselves  with  the  circumstances  of  our  Savior's  his- 
tory. We  accordingly  commenced  with  his  childhood, 
and  were  led  at  once,  into  a  train  of  reflection  on  the 
nature  and  the  character  of  that  eternal  and  invisible 
essence,  whose  attributes  were  personified  in  him.  His 
conduct  and  character  as  a  man,  came  next  before  us; 
then  the  views  of  religious  duty  which  he  came  to  urge 
upon  men.  The  rejection  of  his  message  by  mankind, 
the  consequences  of  it,  and  the  way  by  which  these  con- 
sequences may,  in  any  case,  be  prevented,  naturally 
followed,  leading  us  a  little  away  from  the  immediate 
history  of  our  Savior.  We  now  return  to  it, —  ready, 
however,  to  be  led  away  again,  whenever  necessary  to 
accomplish  the  great  design  of  this  volume. 

We  have  already  shown  that  the  great  object  which 
the  Savior  had  in  view,  in  the  influence  he  endeavored 
to  exert  over  men,  was  to  induce  them  to  repent  of  sin, 
and  to  return  to  duty;  and  not  to  make  them  theoretically 
acquainted  with  theological  truth.  He  pressed  moral 
obligation,  and  endeavored  to  arouse  and  to  enlighten 
conscience.  He  did  indeed  assure  them  of  forgiveness, 
if  they  would  abandon  sin,  but  he  left  them  in  a  great 
measure,  to  be  taught,  by  future  revelation,  which  was 
to  be  made  by  his  Spirit  to  the  apostles,  in  what  way  that 


184  THL    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  7. 

The  last  supper.  Jei-usalem.  Supposed  feelings  of  U)e  populace. 

promised  forgiveness  was  to  be  obtained.  It  was  not 
until  after  his  resurrection  that  he  discoursed  freely  and 
plainly,  even  with  his  disciples,  on  this  subject.  Then, 
indeed,  he  expjjiined  the  subject  to  them  fully.  He 
showed  tlKMii  tliat  "  he  ougiit,"  that  is,  that  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  him  "to  have  suffered  these  things,  and  to 
enter  into  his  glory;  and  beginning  at  INIoses  and  all  the 
prophets,  he  expounded  unto  them,  in  all  the  Scriptures, 
the  things  concerning  himself" 

This  full  disclosure  of  the  nature  and  objects  of  his 
mission  was  not  made  until  after  his  death.  He  ap- 
proached, however,  to  such  a  disclosure,  in  his  last  sad 
interview  with  his  disciples,  on  the  night  in  which  he 
was  betrayed.  It  is  to  the  circumstances  and  character 
of  this  interview,  that  we  have  to  call  the  attention  of  our 
readers  in  this  chapter. 

Jerusalem  was  crowded  with  strangers,  so  much  so 
that,  though  the  enmity  against  the  Savior  had  been 
gathering  strength,  until  it  was  now  ready  to  burst  all 
barriers,  the  leaders  did  not  dare  to  proceed  openly 
against  him,  for  fear  of  a  riot  amonfj  these  multitudes, 
which  they  should  not  be  able  to  control.  They  feared 
the  people,  it  is  said, — for  the  people  loved  to  listen 
to  him,  and  therefore  would  probably  defend  him.  They 
greatly  misunderstood  the  human  heart.  He  deserved  to 
be  beloved,  and  they  thought  that  he  would  be;  but  the 
very  populace  whom  they  so  much  feared,  instead  of 
feeling  any  disposition  to  protect  their  innocent  victim, 
joined  the  cry  against  him.  Far  from  giving  them  any 
embarrassment  or  restraint,  their  clamor  was  the  very 
means  of  urging  the  Roman  Governor  to  do  what  his 
own  sense  of  justice  most  plainly  condemned. 

At  any  rate,  the  enemies  of  the  Savior  thought  it  wise 
to  proceed  with  caution,  and  they  were,  at  this  time, 
laying  plots  for  his  life.     We  shall  consider  the  nature 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  185 

The  last  passover.  Moral  greatness  of  the  occasion. 

of  the  plan  they  formed  in  the  next  chapter.  It  is  suffi- 
cient here  to  say,  that  Jesus  knew  the  whole,  and  felt 
that  his  last  hour  had  nearly  come.  He  had  been  ac- 
customed for  some  time,  to  speak  in  public  during  the 
day,  and  at  night  to  go  out  to  rest  in  the  neighboring 
villages,  or  to  seek  retirement  and  prayer  upon  the 
Mount  of  Olives.  His  last  night  had  now  come.  His 
last  public  address  to  men  had  been  delivered.  The  sun 
had  set,  for  the  last  time,  to  him,  and  nothing  now  re- 
mained but  to  give  his  beloved  disciples  his  farewell 
charge,  and  then  once  more  to  take  his  midnight  walk, 
and  offer  his  midnight  prayer. 

It  was  evening ;  the  evening  of  a  great  festive  celebra- 
tion, which  for  fourteen  hundred  years  had  been  unin- 
terruptedly observed.  Established  to  commemorate  one 
deliverance,  and  to  typify  another  very  singularly  anal- 
ogous to  it,  it  was  intended  to  continue  till  the  Lamb  of 
God  should  at  length  be  slain.  A  new  and  nobler  ordin- 
ance was  then  to  take  its  place; —  an  ordinance  of  deep- 
er meaning,  and  higher  value,  and  of  interest,  not  to  one 
small  province  only,  but  destined  to  extend  its  influence 
to  every  nation  on  the  globe.  This  night  therefore, 
strictly  speaking,  was  to  be  celebrated  the  last  passover. 
The  thousands  who  crowded  the  c^ty  did  not  know  it; 
but  Jesus  did,  and,  as  he  made  preparations  for  celebrat- 
ing it,  with  his  friends,  noiselessly  and  quietly,  in  their 
upper  chamber,  he  must  have  been  impressed  with  the 
moral  greatness  of  the  occasion  A  friendless  man,  per- 
secuted and  defenceless,  and  doomed  to  be  executed, 
the  next  day,  as  a  malefactor, — coming,  with  his  twelve 
friends,  as  powerless  and  unprotected  as  himself,  into 
their  secluded  room,  there  to  bring  to  a  close  the  long 
series  of  splendid  celebrations  which,  for  fourteen  cen- 
turies, had  been  sustained  by  God's  command.  Yes  : 
the  meeting  on  that  night,  was  the  connecting  link  be- 
tween the  old  dispensation  and  the  new.  The  Savior 
16* 


186  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7. 

The  meeting.  Anxiety  and  sadneM. 

must  liave  known  it.  Friendless  and  persecuted,  as  he 
was, —  the  wliole  city  thronged  with  his  enemies, —  the 
plot  for  his  destruction  matured,  and  spies  out  lor  him, 
—  the  very  price  for  his  life  actually  paid,  and  danger 
pressing  around  him  so  closely  that  he  was  obliged  to 
make  his  arrangements  very  privately,  in  order  to  be 
sure  of  an  uninterrupted  hour, — he  yet  must  have  known 
that  he  was  bringing  the  long  series  of  Jewish  rites  and 
ceremonies  to  its  termination,  and  introducing  a  new 
dispensation,  whose  ordinances,  of  nobler  meaning,  be- 
ginning there,  were  to  spread  to  every  nation,  and  to  last 
through  all  time.  It  is  strange  that  the  place  chosen  for 
this,  too,  should  be  the  very  heart  and  centre  of  hostility 
to  his  cause. 

Ai.  the  appointed  hour,  they  came  together,  and  as 
they  assembled  around  the  table,  their  Master  felt  that 
he  met  them  for  the  last  time.  They  felt  it  too.  He 
told  them  plainly  that  his  hour  had  come,  and  they  felt 
depressed  and  dejected,  looking  forward  as  they  did, 
with  anxiety  and  terror,  to  the  scenes  which  were  to 
ensue.  They  knew  what  they  were  very  imperfectly, 
but  Jesus  himself  saw  the  whole.  They  were  in  the 
dark,  or  at  least  they  saw  but  dimly,  but  it  was  all  broad 
light  to  him.  As  he  looked  around  he  could  call  to  mind 
what  each  one  would  do.  There  was  Judas,  with  the 
price  of  his  blood  already  paid, — there  was  Peter,  who 
was  to  abandon  and  deny  him, — and  not  one  of  all  these 
his  firmest  friends,  but  would  forsake  him  in  the  hour  of 
danger,  and  fly.  But  he  did  not  think  of  these  things. 
It  was  the  last  time  he  was  to  be  with  them,  before  his 
death,  and  while  he  was  fully  aware  that  their  fortitude 
could  not  stand  the  dreadful  trial  to  which  it  was  soon  to 
be  exposed,  he  did  not  dwell  upon  such  thoughts.  He 
looked  upon  them  with  interest  and  sympathy,  not  with 
anger, —  and  tried  to  comfort,  not  to  reprove  them.  He 
once  became  agitated  in  speaking  of  his  betrayal,  but 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  187 

The  Savior's  religious  instruction.       He  pressed  duty  first.     Nicoderaua. 

composure  soon  returned,  and  he  did  not  allude  to  his 
abandonment  by  the  rest,  except  in  reply  to  their  own 
boastings  of  unshrinking  fidelity. 

But  we  must  come  to  the  discourse.  The  peculiar 
circumstances  under  which  this  meeting  was  held,  dis- 
tinguish it  from  every  other  occasion  on  which  the  Sav- 
ior gave  religious  instruction.  In  fact  we  may  almost 
say  it  was  the  first  and  only  occasion  on  which  he  gave 
what  may  be  strictly  called  religious  instruction.  He 
had  pressed  duty,  in  a  thousand  forms,  before; — here  he 
exhibited  truth.  He  had,  on  every  occasion,  in  the  house 
and  by  the  way, —  in  the  thronged  city,  and  before  the 
multitudes  assembled  in  the  fields  and  on  the  sea-shore, 
urged  men  to  repent  and  forsake  their  sins, —  now  he 
was  to  exhibit  some  great  truths  more  clearly  than  he 
had  ever  done  before,  to  this  select  company,  whose 
hearts  had  long  been  preparing  to  receive  them.  In  the 
path  along  which  he  led  the  human  mind,  repentance 
came  first,  and  theology  afterwards;  and  it  would  be 
well  if  cavilling  inquirers,  at  the  present  day,  would 
follow  his  example.  They  should  begin  by  obeying  the 
sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  then  come  and  listen  to  the 
conversation  at  the  last  supper. 

There  is  something  most  highly  interesting  and  in- 
structive in  the  manner  in  which  the  Savior  adapted  his 
communications  to  the  occasions  on  which  they  were  to 
be  made,  and  to  the  purposes  which  he  endeavored  to 
eflfect  by  them.  A  modern  preacher  would  have  carried 
the  metaphysics  of  theology  all  over  the  villages  of  Gali- 
lee, and  would  have  puzzled  the  woman  of  Samaria,  or 
the  inquiring  ruler,  with  questions  about  the  nature  of  the 
Godhead,  or  the  distinction  between  moral  and  natural 
inability.  But  Jesus  Christ  pressed  simple  duty.  His 
explanations  all  went  to  throw  light  on  the  one  single 
distinction,  between  right  and  wrong.  Even  when 
Nicodemus  came  to  him,  the  man  better  qualified,  pei- 


188  THE    COR.NER-STONE.  [Cfl.  7. 

Theories  of  rcgeaeralion.     The  occasion.      Topics  now  brought  forward. 

haps,  than  any  other  one  who  visited  him,  for  theological 
discussion,  he  simply  urged  upon  him  the  necessity  of 
the  great  change  of  heart;  he  attempted  no  explanation 
of  the  precise  mode  hy  which  the  heavenly  influence 
could  effect  it.  He  pressed  the  fact,  but  declined  all 
investigation  of  the  theory.  He  in  fact  pronounced  the 
subject  beyond  the  grasp  of  our  present  powers,  yet 
human  pride  and  self  conceit  have  clambered  over  the 
barrier  which  he  thus  attempted  to  raise;  and  confused, 
and  contradictory,  and  unintelligible  speculations,  agree- 
ing in  nothing  but  hostility  to  one  another, — killing  the 
spirit  of  piety  and  destroying  the  peace  of  the  church, 
have  been  continually  appearing,  from  that  day  to  this, 
—  a  standing  and  perpetual  commentary  on  the  Savior's 
words,  and  a  most  powerful,  though  most  melancholy 
proof  of  the  wisdom  which  dictated  them. 

But  to  return  to  the  subject  of  our  Savior's  instruc- 
tions. These  instructions,  when  addressed  to  the  public 
at  large,  related  to  duty, —  direct,  practical,  immediate 
duty, —  and  he  seemed  to  love  to  bring  it  to  view  in  ways 
so  clear,  and  in  cases  so  plain,  that  no  proof  but  the  tes- 
timony of  conscience  within  every  man's  bosom,  should 
be  necessary  to  establish  his  positions.  "  If  any  man 
will  do  his  will  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,"  was  his 
motto,  and  he  acted  according  to  it.  The  time,  however, 
for  instruction  had  now  come, —  instruction  in  the  higher 
truths  of  religion, —  the  nature  of  the  Deity,  the  relation 
sustained  to  him  by  Jesus  Christ,  the  design  and  fruits 
of  true  religion,  remission  of  past  sins  through  the  Re- 
deemer's blood,  and  the  presence  and  influences  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  as  the  means  of  leading  men  to  repentance. 
These  were  topics  on  which  the  Savior  had  seldom 
spoken  didactically  before,  but  now  the  last  opportunity 
had  come,  and  he  opened  before  those  who  were  to  be 
the  future  ministers  of  his  religion,  new  treasures  of  re- 
ligious knowledge.     He  had  been  the  preacher  before, 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  189 

Free  conversation.      Truths  adduced.      His  testimony  respecting  himself. 

— he  became  the  religious  teacher  now, —  and  under  the 
guidance  of  the  beloved  disciple,  who  has  recorded  the 
conversation,  let  us  go  in  to  the  still,  solemn  assembly, 
and  hear  what  he  has  to  say. 

It  was  a  familiar  conference,  rather  than  a  formal  dis- 
course. The  disciples  freely  asked  questions,  and  some- 
times the  conversation  ceased  to  be  general,  and  the 
individuals  of  the  company  talked  with  one  another,  in 
separate  groups  as  they  happened  to  be  seated  together. 
The  great  truths  of  religion  were,  however,  the  subjects 
of  discussion,  and  nothing  could  afford  higher  proof  of 
the  genuineness  and  truth  of  the  description  of  this  in- 
terview, than  the  cautious,  hesitating  manner  in  which 
the  leading  disciples  are  represented  as  asking  their 
questions;  it  was  in  precisely  the  way,  in  which  new 
and  extraordinary  developements  of  truth  are  always 
received  by  pupils,  from  a  teacher  to  whom  they  look  up 
with  veneration  and  respect.  But  let  us  look  at  these 
truths  in  detail. 

1.  He  explained  to  them  that  he  was  the  great  mani- 
festation of  the  Divinity  to  men;  and  that  consequently 
it  was  only  through  him,  that  the  human  mind  could  find 
its  access  to  the  Divinity.     But  let  us  quote  his  words. 

I  am  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and  the  life:  no  man 
Cometh  unto  the  Father  but  by  me. 

If  ye  had  known  me,  ye  should  have  known  my  Fath- 
er also:  and  from  henceforth  ye  know  him,  and  have 
seen  him. 

Philip  saith  unto  him,  Lord,  show  us  the  Father,  and 
it  sufficeth  us. 

Jesus  saith  unto  him,  Have  I  been  so  long  time  with 
you,  and  yet  hast  thou  not  known  me,  Philip?  he  that 
hath  seen  me,  hath  seen  the  Father;  and  how  sayest 
thou  then.  Show  us  the  Father? 

Believest  thou  not  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  the 


190  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  7. 


Philip's  question.     Tl»e  way  to  approarh  the  Deity.      Moral  dt-pendence. 

Father  in  me}  tlic  words  that  I  speak  unto  you,  I  speak 
not  of  myself;  but  the  Father,  tliat  dwcUcth  in  me,  ho 
doeth  the  works. 

Behove  me  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  tlic  Father  in 
me:   or  else  beheve  me  for  the  very  works'  sake.* 

The  human  mind  still  repeats  Phihp's  very  natural 
request.  "  Show  us  the  Father."  It  reaches  forward 
for  some  vision  of  the  divinity, —  the  great  unseen  and 
inconceivable  essence,  which  pervades  all  space,  and 
exists  through  all  time;  and  it  often  decks  out  for  itself, 
as  we  have  shown  in  a  preceding  chapter,  a  gorgeous 
image,  with  crown  and  sceptre  and  throne,  which  reason 
tells  them  cannot  exist,  and  which  if  it  did  exist,  would 
be  a  splendid  idol,  not  God.  How  many  Christians  bow 
to  such  an  image,  which  their  imagination  has  made; — 
an  idol  more  vain,  in  fact,  than  those  of  stocks  and  stones, 
— for  they  at  least,  have  substance,  while  this  is  but  a 
phantom  of  the  mind.  No.  Jesus  Christ  is  the  personi- 
fication of  the  Divinity,  for  us;  the  brightness  of  his  glory 
and  the  express  image  of  his  person,  and  it  is  by  him 
alone  that  we  are  to  find  our  way  to  the  great  power 
which  reigns  over  us  all.  Believe  this,  said  the  Savior, 
on  my  assurance,  or  else  believe  it  on  account  of  the 
powers  you  see  that  I  possess,  and  the  works  I  do. 

2.  He  taught  them  that  divine  influence  upon  the 
hearts  of  men  was  essential  to  their  repentance  and  sal- 
vation. "  Ye  have  not  chosen  me,"  said  he, — "  I  have 
chosen  you."  What  a  declaration!  How  solitary  it 
makes  the  Savior  in  the  world  he  had  come  to  redeem. 
More  than  thirty  years  he  had  spent  here,  doing  good 
continually,  and  proclaiming  offers  of  reconciliation  and 
pardon,  and  now,  on  the  last  night  of  his  life,  surrounded 
by  inveterate  foes,  already  actually  sold  to  them,  and  with 
but  a  few  hours  of  liberty  remaining, —  he  gathers  pri- 
*  John,  14:  6  —  11. 


Ch.  7.] 

THE 

LAST 

SUPPER. 

191 

Ye  have  not 

chosen 

me. 

The 

vine  and  the  branches. 

vately  his  twelve  friends,  that  he  may  have  one  last  sad 
interview  with  them;  and  here  he  had  to  reflect  that  even 
these  his  twelve  friends,  among  ten  thousand  enemies, 
had  not  chosen  him; — he  had  chosen  them.  He  stood 
alone,  after  all;  the  only  example  of  independent,  origi- 
nal holiness.  The  universal  reign  of  ungodliness  and 
sin,  had  been  broken  only  where  he  had  chosen  individ- 
uals to  be  saved,  and  trained  them,  by  his  own  power,  to 
moral  fruitfulness  and  beauty. 

"Ye  have  not  chosen  me,  but  I  have  chosen  you." 
How  much  it  means!  How  many  lessons  we  may,  by  a 
most  direct  and  rigid  inference,  draw  from  it!  How  lofty 
the  moral  courage  which  led  him  to  say  it!  Another 
man,  in  such  a  case,  would  have  strengthened  the  attach- 
ment of  the  few  who  remained  true  to  him,  at  such  an 
hour,  by  praising  their  generous  fidelity  in  adhering  to 
their  chosen  friend.  But  Jesus,  as  if  loving  the  solitary 
grandeur  of  the  position  in  which  he  stood,  with  all  the 
world  against  him  except  these  twelve,  gently  withdraws 

himself  even  from  these, "  Ye  have  not  chosen  me, 

but  I  have  chosen  you, One  of  you  will  betray  me, 

another  will  repeatedly  deny  that  he  is  my  friend, 

and  in  the  course  of  this  night,  when  the  hour  of  real 
danger  shall  come,  every  one  of  you  will  be  scattered, 
and  will  leave  me  alone."  Solitary  sufferer!  how  wide 
a  distance  separated  thy  lofty  powers,  and  original  and 
stable  virtue,  from  the  weak  and  frail  and  cultivated 
attachment  of  thy  trembling  friends! 

The  Savior  brought  to  view,  in  many  other  forms,  the 
dependence  of  his  disciples,  for  all  the  moral  excellence 
they  could  ever  possess,  upon  their  union  with  him. 
"I  am  the  true  vine, and  my  Father  is  the  husbandman.*' 
"  Every  branch  in  me  that  beareth  not  fruit  he  taketh 
away;  and  every  branch  that  beareth  fruit  he  purgeth, 
that  it  may  bear  more  fruit." 


192  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7, 

Union  witii  Christ.         The  Cumfurter.         His  work  upon  human  hearts 

**  Now  ye  are  clean  through  the  word  which  I  have 
spokon  unto  you." 

*'  Abide  in  mo  and  I  in  you.  As  the  branch  cannot 
bear  fruit  of  itself  except  it  abide  in  the  vine,  no  more  can 
ye  except  ye  abide  in  me." 

It  was  as  if  he  had  said,  You  have  no  spiritual  life 
originating  in  yourselves,  and  existing  independently. 
You  depend  on  me.  It  is  by  divine  power  exercised 
upon  you,  by  means  of  your  union  with  me,  that  your 
hearts  are  to  be  purified  more  and  more,  so  that  the 
fruits  of  piety  may  be  increased'in  you.  Without  this 
union  you  will  be  nothing. 

He  spoke  to  them  of  the  Comforter  also,  alluding 
again  and  again  to  this  promised  influence  from  above; 
saying  first  that  he  would  send  him  from  the  Father,  and 
again  that  the  Father  would  send  him  in  his,  the  Savior's, 
name.  This  Comforter,  the  Holy  Spirit,  was  to  enlight- 
en tlieir  minds,  and  comfort  their  hearts,  and,  above  all, 
was  to  bring  efl[*ectually  to  the  hearts  and  consciences 
of  men,  those  great  truths  which  the  Savior  had  preach^ 
ed  to  the  ear  in  vain.  The  three  great  subjects  which 
this  Spirit  was  to  press  upon  the  attention  of  mankind 
were  pointed  out.  Human  guilt,  human  duty,  and  a 
judgment  to  come.  "  He  shall  reprove  the  world  of  sin 
and  of  righteousness;"  of  righteousness  and  of  sin,  some 
theologians  would  say,  reversing  the  order, —  thinking 
that  in  a  logical  arrangement,  right  should  come  before 
wrong.  But  no;  the  Savior's  view  is  far  more  true  to 
nature  and  to  fact.  The  Holy  Spirit  when  it  comes  to 
men,  finds  them  debased  and  depraved,  and  righteous- 
ness, if  it  finds  a  place  in  human  hearts  at  all,  must  be 
preceded,  by  conviction  of  sin.  To  produce  this  convic- 
tion, and  then  to  awaken  penitence  and  love,  and  to  keep 
alive  a  sense  of  obligation  and  accountability,  is  the  work 
which  this  heavenly  visiter  comes  to  do. 

The  necessity  of  an  interposition  from  Heaven  to  turn 


Ch.  7.] 

THE   LAST    SUPPER. 

193 

The  disciple's  question. 

The  prayer. 

Eternal  life  a  gift. 

men  away  from  their  sins,  and  to  bring  them  to  repent- 
ance, had  been  often  alluded  to  by  our  Savior  before. 
But  the  truth  stands  out,  with  uncommon  clearness  and 
prominence,  in  these  his  last  instructions.  His  pupils 
did  not  at  once  fully  understand  it.  Nay,  who,  we  may 
ask,  understands  it  now .'' 

"  He  that  loveth  me  shall  be  loved  of  my  Father,  and 
I  will  love  him  and  manifest  myself  to  him." 

"  How,"  asked  one  of  the  disciples,  "how  is  it  that 
thou  wilt  manifest  thyself  unto  us,  and  not  unto  the 
world  ?  " 

"  If  a  man  love  me,"  was  the  reply,  "he  will  keep 
my  words,  and  my  Father  will  love  him,  and  ive  will 
come  unto  him  and  make  our  abode  with  him." 

It  is  no  wonder  that,  with  their  imperfect  ideas  of  the 
true  character  of  their  master,  and  of  the  relation  he  sus- 
tained to  the  Divinity,  they  asked  the  question,  how  he 
could  manifest  himself  to  them  and  not  to  the  world; — 
and  how  strange  must  his  reply  have  sounded,  if  they 
supposed  it  came  from  a  man  like  themselves.  God  and 
I  will  come  and  dwell  with  the  good!  What  language, 
—  if  a  mere  mortal  man  had  uttered  it. 

It  is  most  interesting  to  observe  how,  in  this  whole 
conversation,  the  thoughts  of  the  Savior  seemed  con- 
stantly to  dwell  on  this  great  truth, —  the  moral  depen- 
dence of  the  human  heart  on  God.  It  came  up  in 
various  forms,  again  and  again,  as  if  it  was  a  truth  which 
his  mind  dwelt  upon,  and  continually  recurred  to  with 
pleasure.  Even  in  his  prayer,  it  is  most  strongly  ex- 
pressed, and  almost  in  the  first  words  he  uttered.  "As 
thou  hast  given  him  power  over  all  flesh — "  what  sort  of 
power?  we  ask: — the  answer  follows ; — "that  he  should 
give  eternal  life,  to  as  many  as  thou  hast  given  him." 
And  what  is  meant  here  by  eternal  life  ?  holiness  itself, 
or  the  reward  of  holiness?  "And  this  is  eternal  life,** 
;he  Savior  proceeds,  "  that  they  might  know  thee,  the  only 
17 


194 

THE 

CORNER' 

'STONE. 

[Ch. 

x 

God's 

claim 

often 

resisted. 

The  hap 

piness 

of  yielding  lo  iU 

true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  than  liust  sent."  The 
knowledge  of  God,  and  of  Jesus  Clirist  his  Son,  is  a  gift 
from  the  Deity  to  men;  and  it  is  Jesus  Christ  himself 
who  bestows  it. 

The  heart  which  is  still  unsubdued,  is  restless  and  dis^^- 
satisfied,  under  the  claim  which  God  thus  asserts  to  all 
the  praise  which  human  holiness  deserves.  But  the  soul 
which  is  really  penitent  and  humble,  finds  its  greatest 
happiness  in  feeling  and  acknowledging  it.  Religion  is 
submission  to  God;  and  the  feeling  of  submission  and  the 
sense  of  dependence,  are  called  for  more  imperiously  in 
reference  to  our  moral  and  spiritual  wants  than  to  any 
other.  There  is  in  fact  no  moral  or  spiritual  safety  with- 
out these  feelings,  and  our  Savior  knew  this  full  well. 
There  is  scarcely  any  subject  which  he  brought  more 
continually  to  view.  On  this  occasion  he  expressed  the 
sentiment  again  and  again,  in  various  forms,  or  rather 
expressions  seemed  spontaneously  to  flow  from  his  lips, 
recognising  the  truth  as  if  it  was  one  which  he  dwelt 
upon  with  pleasure. 

The  feeling  which  prompted  this,  is  one  which  every 
true  Christian  can  understand.  The  highest  emotion  of 
enjoyment  which  the  renewed  heart  can  feel,  is  perhaps 
this  sense  of  entire,  unqualified,  unconditional  submis- 
sion to  God.  The  word  submission  does  not  however 
precisely  express  the  feeling.  It  is  the  sense  of  being 
entirely,  and  altogether  in  God's  hands,  and  at  God's 
disposal, —  in  every  respect, —  for  life,  health,  prosperity, 
character,  heart,  everything.  It  is  when  this  feeling 
has  most  complete  and  unbroken  ascendency  in  the 
mind,  that  the  soul  attains  its  highest  position,  and 
enjoys  its  purest  happiness.  Theoretical  reasoning  on 
the  subject  might  lead  us  to  suppose  that  such  a  feeling 
would  diminish  the  sense  of  responsibility,  and  throw  the 
soul  off  its  guard,  and  leave  it  exposed  to  temptation,  by 
its  trusting  thus  its  moral  keeping  to  another.     But  no^ 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  195 

Feeling  of  dependence  safe:  happy.  Religious  experience. 

it  is  not  so  in  fact.  The  heart  which  lies  most  submis- 
Bive  in  its  Maker's  hands,  and  trusts  most  entirely  to  his 
protection,  is  the  one  which  is  most  alive  to  the  guilt  and 
dangers  of  sin,  and  most  sensitive  and  shrinking  in  res- 
pect to  the  slightest  contamination.  The  higher  are 
its  ideas  of  its  own  moral  helplessness,  the  firmer  is  the 
ground  on  which  it  stands.  When  it  is  weak,  then  it  is 
strong.  Christian  philosophy  has  been  sadly  perplexed 
to  explain  the  theory  of  moral  agency,  and  the  nature 
of  the  divine  control  over  human  hearts,  but  christian 
experience  settles  all  questions  about  the  fact;  and  the 
penitent  and  humbled  soul,  which  will  leave  the  whole 
field  of  worldly  influences  and  the  speculations  of  human 
science,  and  go  on,  alone,  after  God,  will,  in  the  depths 
of  its  own  experience,  be  led  to  views  of  the  extent  of 
this  control,  which  can  never  be  forced  by  argument 
upon  those  who  have  not  acquired  them  by  their  own 
Spiritual  vision.  The  temple  of  religious  experience  has 
all  its  magnificence  and  all  its  grandeur  within;  and  they 
who  have  found  their  way  into  the  inner  apartments,  and 
have  actually  gazed  upon  the  solemn  splendor  that  is 
there,  can  understand  and  sympathize  with  one  another; 
while  they  who  stand  without  can  never  be  convinced, 
by  argument  or  description,  of  what  they  cannot  see. 
Jesus  Christ  did  not  attempt  to  do  this;  He  adapted  his 
discourse  to  the  degree  of  progress  which  they  who 
heard  it  had  made.  He  did  not  stand  arguing  without, 
but  led  his  followers  in,  and  pointed  out  the  sublimer 
truths,  and  the  loftier  sentiments  of  religion,  only  as  fast 
as  they  could  see  and  feel  them. 

We  have  seen  that  the  feeling  which  seemed  so  to  fill 
the  Savior's  heart  on  this  occasion,  the  entire  spiritual 
dependence  of  the  human  soul  on  God,  is  a  safe  feeling; 
it  is  also  a  most  happy  one.  A  sense  of  dependence, 
and  confidence  in  promised  protection,  are  delightful 
emotions  to  hearts  constituted  as  ours  are.     This  is  true 


196  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7. 

Trust  in  God.  Physical  danger.  The  safe  refuge. 

in  regard  to  physical  dangers.  When  the  dark  heavy 
clouds  gather  in  the  western  sky,  at  the  close  of  a  sultry 
summer's  day,  and  flashes  of  lightning  are  seen,  and 
heavy  rolling  thunder  seems  to  convulse  the  sky,  the 
christian  father  betakes  himself  to  his  sheltered  home, 
and  gathers  his  family  around  him.  and  loves  to  come 
and  lay  tlie  whole  precious  trust  into  his  Maker's  hands. 
If  his  heart  is  right  it  will  be  a  happy  hour  to  him.  He 
has  done  all  he  can  do,  and  there  is  already  over  him 
whatever  protection  human  art  can  raise  against  the  rain 
and  hail,  and  the  tempestuous  wind  and  fatal  lightning, 
and  all  the  dangers  of  the  midnight  storm;  but  his  hap- 
piness consists  in  forgetting  all  such  protection,  and 
coming  to  place  himself  and  all  that  is  dear  to  him, 
under  the  mighty  hand  of  God,  confiding  in  him  and  in 
him  alone.  He  knows  he  can  trust  to  nothing  else. 
There  is  a  roof  over  him,  but  one  blast  of  the  tempest 
might  scatter  it  to  fragments.  His  walls  a  single  bolt 
from  heaven  might  rend  asunder,  and  his  whole  dwelling 
in  a  moment  burst  into  flame.  He  knows  all  this;  and 
it  is  his  happiness  to  feel  that  though  he  has  done  all  he 
can  do,  he  must  trust  in  God,  and  in  God  alone. 

It  is  exactly  so  with  his  spiritual  protection.  •  He  will 
do  all  he  can  do,  but  he  never  will  consider  his  prayers 
and  resolutions  and  watchfulness  as  his  real  defence 
against  temptation  and  sin.  No;  he  takes  delight  in 
feeling  that,  in  respect  to  moral  protection,  his  trust  is 
wholly  in  God,  and  this  feeling  that  he  is  spiritually  in 
his  Maker's  hands,  is  not  only  his  greatest  safety, —  it  is 
his  highest  happiness.  The  soul,  too,  comes  to  this  feel- 
ing in  all  the  trying  scenes,  and  solemn  occasions  of  life, 
with  peculiar  pleasure.  It  flies  to  it  as  to  a  refuge,  and 
enjoys  its  refreshing  influence,  when  nothing  else  would 
sustain  or  console.  Our  Savior  seems  scarcely  ever  to 
have  thought  of  it  so  much,  and  to  have  pressed  it  so 
strongly  and  so  repeatedly  upon  his  disciples,  as  in  this 
last  sad  scene. 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  197 

Other  truths.  Evidences  of  piety.  Fruits.  CommoD  errors. 

But  let  us  proceed  to  consider  some  of  the  other  top- 
ics he  brought  before  them  on  this  occasion.  As  we  go 
on,  the  reader  will  be  struck  at  the  selection  he  made. 
The  great  fundamental  truths  of  religion  seemed  to  rise 
before  him  and  occupy  his  view.  It  was  in  fact  a  dis- 
course on  the  theology  of  the  gospel,  bringing  out  its 
great  features,  and  holding  them  up  prominently  to  view. 
It  has  not  the  formal  arrangement  of  a  scholastic  dis- 
course, for  it  was  a  free  conversation, —  but  the  truths 
are  all  there,  and  the  nature  of  the  views  he  thus  pre- 
sented to  the  disciples,  so  lofty,  and  so  profound,  con- 
tributes, quite  as  much,  perhaps,  as  the  affecting  circum- 
stances of  the  occasion,  to  give  to  the  whole  scene  that 
air  of  majestic  and  affecting  solemnity,  which  is  not 
equalled  by  any  other  passage,  even  in  the  Bible.  But 
let  us  proceed  to  consider  the  remaining  topics. 

3.  He  taught  them  that  the  true  evidences  of  piety 
are  its  fruits;  a  truth  of  which  it  seems  harder  to  con- 
vince mankind  than  of  almost  any  other.  Nobody 
denies  it  in  words,  but  very  few  really  believe  it  in  fact. 
We  are  always  substituting  something  else  in  the  place 
of  these  fruits.  It  seems  as  if  the  Savior  felt  that  now, 
as  he  was  about  to  leave  his  disciples  to  carry  on  his 
work  alone,  they  would  be  peculiarly  exposed  to  danger 
from  this  source,  and  he  accordingly  pressed  upon  them 
again  and  again  attention  to  it.  "  By  this  shall  all  men 
know  that  ye  are  my  disciples,  if  ye  have  love  one  to 
another."  "If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  commandments." 
'*  He  that  hath  my  commandments  and  keepeth  them, 
he  it  is  that  loveth  me."  "  If  a  man  love  me  he  will 
keep  my  words."  "  Herein  is  my  Father  glorified,  that 
ye  bear  much  fruit,  so  shall  ye  be  my  disciples."  Such 
expressions  were  continually  occurring  in  his  discourse ; 
and  if  we  consider,  what  was  unquestionably  the  fact, 
that  the  record  of  John  contains  only  a  brief  summary 
of  the  remarks  which  the  Savior  made,  we  shall  be  coa- 

17* 


198  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7. 

Two  errors.  Ahiiiidance  of  talk.  Insincerity. 

vinced  that  he  urged  this  subject  very  emphatically  and 
fully,  upon  the  attention  of  liis  disciples. 

The  church  is,  however,  very  slow  to  learn  the  le** 
son.  We  err  in  two  ways,  sometimes  by  placing  some- 
thing else  entirely,  in  the  stead  of  fruits,  as  evidences  of 
piety,  and  sometimes  on  the  other  hand,  by  mistaking  the 
nature  of  the  fruits  which  are  to  be  regarded  as  evidence. 
We  do  this  continually;  and  probably  when  the  day  of 
real  trial  shall  come,  the  whole  church  will  be  overwhel- 
med with  astonishment  to  find  at  last  what  an  immense 
amount  of  hollow  and  hypocritical  pretension,  merely, 
will  be  found  under  her  banner.  In  fact  the  evidence 
which  is,  perhaps,  mainly  relied  upon  here,  in  determin- 
ing the  attitude  in  which  a  man  stands,  in  respect  to 
christian  character,  is  almost  altogether  different  from 
that  pointed  out  by  the  Savior.  Bold  assurance  of  pro- 
fession, and  religious  party  spirit,  rank  very  high  among 
the  commonly  received  evidences  of  piety.  If  a  man 
talks  confidently  of  his  change,  and  expresses  deep  inter- 
est in  the  duties  of  his  new  service,  and  if  the  language 
of  the  Christian  comes  fluently  from  the  tongue,  we  are 
slow  to  suspect  insincerity.  In  many  such  cases,  the  very 
profusion  of  professions,  might  lead  us  to  withold  our 
confidence.  Empty  profession  is  generally  loquacious, 
while  sincere  and  devoted  attachment,  is  strong  and  deep 
in  the  heart,  but  its  words  are  few.  "  Out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,"  the  reader  will 
say.  True,  it  speaks  out  of  the  abundance,  and  yet  it 
says  but  little.  There  is  abundance  of  feeling  but  not  of 
words. 

Party  spirit  in  religion  is  another  spurious  proof  of 
piety.  The  victim  of  it  seems  to  be  entirely  devoted  to 
the  cause  of  Christ;  he  has  indeed  a  strong  interest  in 
that  cause,  and  makes  continual  effort  and  submits  to 
great  sacrifices  to  promote  it.  But  the  real  fruits  of 
piety  do  not  reign  in  his  heart,  and  if  he  was  not  spirit- 


'  Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  199 

Party  spirit  in  religion.  Its  nature.  Its  spirit.  Its  effects. 

ually  blind,  he  would  see  that  his  zeal  is  party  spirit, 
almost  entirely; — i.  e.  an  interest  in  an  organization 
of  which  he  has  become  a  constituent  part.  Whenever 
men  act  together,  the  mind,  by  one  of  its  mysterious 
powers,  sees  a  new  being  in  the  union,  and  soon  forms 
almost  a  personal  attachment  for  it.  It  enlists  men's 
pride  and  ambition,  and  arouses  all  their  energies;  and 
devotion  to  this  imaginary  existence  becomes  often  one 
of  the  strongest  passions  of  the  human  mind.  It  is  one 
of  the  sins  to  which  the  human  heart  is  most  prone,  and 
in  which  it  is  most  impregnable.  A  man  usually  thinks 
it  a  virtue.  He  sees  he  is  not  working  for  himself,  and 
persuades  himself  that  it  is  the  principles  of  his  party 
which  are  the  object  of  his  attachment.  But  this  is  not 
the  case,  for  when  these  principles  spread  partially  into 
other  parties  he  is  always  displeased.  He  is  never  sat- 
isfied at  seeing  his  opponents  coming  to  the  truth, —  they 
must  come  over  to  his  side. 

This  is  party  spirit,  and  the  humble  and  devoted 
Christian,  who  really  loves  his  master,  finds  it  constantly 
insinuating  itself  into  his  heart,  and  acting  as  the  motive 
of  a  very  large  proportion  of  his  labors  in  the  service 
of  his  master.  The  tests  by  which  this  spirit  can  be 
detected,  we  have  not  time  now  to  describe;  but  it  burns 
everywhere  in  the  Christian  church,  it  influences  parish 
against  parish,  and  society  against  society,  and  makes 
each  denomination  jealous  and  suspicious  of  the  rest. 
It  frowns  upon  the  truth  and  the  Christian  prosperity 
which  is  not  found  within  its  own  pale.  It  is  the  spirit 
of  intolerance  and  exclusion.  "We  found  one,"  it  says, 
**  casting  out  devils  in  thy  name,  and  we  forbade  him 
because  he  folloiveth  not  us.^'  Banish  this  spirit  for  ever. 
If  men  will  cast  out  devils,  no  matter  whom  they  follow; 
they  must  do  it,  if  they  do  it  at  all,  in  Jesus's  name,  and 
no  matter  for  the  rest,  We  must  not  frown  upon  real 
piety  or  truth,  because  they  do  not  appear  in  our  own 


200  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.   7. 

True  fruits  of  piety.  The  catalogue.  Love.  Joy.  Peace. 

uniform;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  never  con- 
found truth  with  error,  nor  admit  the  pretensions  of  any 
specious  counterfeit,  which  may  assume  the  name  and 
form  of  piety,  while  it  is  without  its  power. 

But  what  are  the  real  fruits  of  piety?  the  reader  may 
ask.  The  apostle  has  given  the  catalogue.  They  are 
characteristics  of  the  heart,  not  of  the  external  conduct. 
They  are  these: 

Love.  The  heart  that  is  renewed,  experiences  an 
entire  change  in  respect  to  its  great  ruling  principles 
of  action.  Instead  of  being  swayed  by  the  impulses  of 
selfishness  and  passion,  its  affections  go  forth  and  rest 
upon  God  as  their  supreme  object,  and  link  themselves 
also,  by  indissoluble  bonds,  with  every  other  being  who 
is  joined  in  heart  to  him.  These  new  emotions  have 
henceforth  the  control. 

Joy.  The  prevalence  of  universal  love  will  go  very 
far  towards  producing  universal  enjoyment.  Love  is 
happiness,  and  it  brings  happiness  in  every  form;  and 
true  piety  will  find  sources  of  pleasure  which  sin  never 
knows.  Where  there  is  moroseness  or  melancholy,  there 
must  be  something  wrong.  It  may  be  moral  or  physical 
disease,  but  it  must  be  one  or  the  other. 

Peace.  Peace  within  itself,  and  peace  in  respect  to 
others.  Selfishness  is  keenly  alive  to  its  own  rights, 
and  keenly  sensitive  to  injuries;  and  where  each  seeks 
mainly  his  own,  there  must  be  collision.  Piety  quiets 
animosities  and  strifes,  by  destroying  the  value  of  the 
objects  of  contention.  It  points  men  to  new  sources  of 
happiness;  and  they  are  such  as  can  be  enjoyed  most 
perfectly,  when  others  share  them.  The  heart  that  is 
renewed,  is  at  peace,  too,  within  itself.  Its  irritating 
passions  and  corroding  cares  are  all  allayed,  and  the 
soul  is  like  a  summer's  sea,  serene  and  placid, —  the 
storms  of  passion  hushed,  and  the  golden  beams  of  the 
sun  of  righteousness  reposing  tranquilly  upon  it. 


Ch.   7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  201 

Long  suffering.  Gentleness.  Goodness.  Faith. 

LoNG-SuFFERiNG.  The  true  Christian  feels  that  he 
is  himself  forgiven,  and  he  consequently  bears  long  and 
is  kind.  He  looks  upon  sin  with  compassion  for  the 
offender,  and  remembers  the  burning  from  which  he  was 
saved.  The  heartless  pretender  can,  in  public,  assume 
this  language,  but  when  off  his  guard  at  home,  or  in  his 
counting  room,  or  field,  his  hasty  words,  and  impatient 
looks  betray  the  spirit  which  reigns  in  his  heart. 

Gentleness.  The  Christian  feels  that  his  great  busi- 
ness in  life  is  to  lead  hearts  to  the  Savior:  and  hearts,  if 
led  at  all,  must  be  led  gently.  The  hollow-hearted  pre- 
tender will  try  to  drive.  Harsh,  repulsive  and  tyranni- 
cal, he  shows  that  he  has  not  experienced  the  grace  of 
God,  which  always  softens  asperities,  and  smooths  the 
roughness  with  which  selfishness  is  so  oflen  clothed. 

Goodness.  The  renewed  heart  feels  a  benevolent 
interest  in  the  welfare  of  every  sentient  being.  It 
desires  universal  happiness,  and  springs,  with  an  ever 
ready  elasticity,  to  produce  it,  wherever  Providence 
shall  present  the  opportunity.  The  great  public  effort, 
the  generous  donation,  the  open  deed  of  charity,  may 
be  the  result  of  pride,  or  ostentation,  or  party  spirit,  but 
real  Christian  benignity  shows  itself  in  all  the  thousand 
nameless  occasions,  where  a  word  or  a  look  or  a  trifling 
action  may  give  pleasure.  It  shows  itself  in  great  efforts 
too;  but  the  highest  proof  of  its  existence  and  its  power, 
is  continued,  and  universal,  and  spontaneous  action. 

Faith.  True  piety  believes  what  God  says  and  trusts 
to  it.  It  sees  heavenly  realities,  and  feels  their  influence 
continually.  It  trusts  in  God's  care,  realizing  that  every 
mercy  is  his  gift,  and  bowing  submissively  to  affliction 
and  trial.  Hypocrisy  is  sound  in  its  theoretical  views, 
but  it  repines  at  losses, — or  stands  restless  and  uneasy 
over  the  cradle  of  a  sick  child, —  or  proves  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  pursues  this  world,  that  it  has  no  faith  in 
God's  promises  about  the  happiness  of  another. 


202  THE    COUNER-STONE.  [Ch.   7." 

Meekness.  Temperance.  Other  occurrences  at  the  intervieviw 

Meekness.  The  sincere  Christian  is  humble  in  re- 
spect to  himself,  and  indulji^cnt  and  mild  towards  others. 
Having  some  conceptions  of  tlie  deceitful  wickedness  of 
his  own  heart,  he  looks  upon  the  worst  of  men  as  brother 
sinners.  The  hypocrite  cannot  see  his  own  pollution 
and  guilt,  and  is  consequently  haughty,  censorious,  and 
uncharitable  in  respect  to  the  failings  of  his  fellow  men. 

Temperance.  The  worldly  enjoyments  of  the  sincere 
disciple  are  in  all  respects,  regulated  by  Christian  prin- 
ciples. The  regulator,  existing  in  the  heart,  acts  always, 
and  with  steady  consistency.  Hypocrisy  restrains  those 
indulgences  which  men  would  see  and  condemn,  but  she 
rewards  herself  for  her  venal  virtue,  by  the  freedom  of 
her  secret  sins. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  piety,  as  enumerated  by  an 
inspired  apostle.  It  was  such  fruits  as  these  that  our 
Savior  had  in  view.  He  charged  his  disciples,  again 
and  again,  to  look  for  these,  as  the  only  evidences  that 
human  professions  of  love  to  him  were  really  sincere. 

We  have  thus  considered  the  three  great  truths  which 
stand  out  most  prominently  in  the  instructions  of  this 
occasion.  There  were,  however,  various  other  topics 
discussed,  and  various  incidents  occurred,  which  it  does 
not  comport  with  our  present  purpose  to  describe.  There 
are  many  considerations  which  it  would  be  highly  in- 
teresting to  present,  such  as  the  perfect  frankness  with 
which  he  foretold  the  dangers  and  sufferings  which  his 
disciples  were  about  to  incur  in  his  cause;  the  frequency 
and  earnestness  with  which  he  pressed  upon  them  the 
promised  efficacy  of  prayer,  sometimes  saying  that  he, 
and  sometimes  that  the  Father  would  grant  their  re- 
quests; and  the  manner  in  which  he  presented  to  them 
the  comforts  and  consolations  of  religion,  as  their  refuge 
from  their  future  trials.  These  things,  however,  we  can- 
not dwell  upon  now. 


Ch.  7.] 

THE    LAST    SUPPER.                                     203 

The  Lord's  supper. 

The  Savior's  view  of  ceremonies. 

At  the  close  of  the  interview  he  estabHshed  the  great 
Christian  ordinance,  which  has  been  celebrated,  without 
interruption,  from  that  day  to  this.  The  circumstances 
under  which  that  ordinance  was  established,  teach  us  a 
lesson,  as  we  have  already  briefly  said,  in  a  preceding 
chapter,  in  regard  to  the  manner  in  which  the  Savior 
j-egarded  forms  and  ceremonies,  which  it  is  strange  that 
Christians  have  been  so  slow  to  learn.  In  the  first  place, 
he  made  apparently  no  preparation  for  it.  The  articles 
used  were  those  which  we  may  literally  say,  happened 
to  be  there.  In  fact  it  seems  as  if  the  Savior,  when 
the  time  arrived  for  his  last  farewell, —  his  very  last  act 
of  intercourse  as  a  mortal,  with  his  disciples,  and  he 
wished  to  leave  something  as  a  memorial  of  himself,  did 
not  devote  a  thought,  not  a  moment's  thought,  to  the 
consideration  of  what  the  thmg  itself  should  be.  They 
are  sitting  or  standing  around  the  table,  about  to  sepa- 
rate, and  he  takes  up  the  very  first  thing  which  comes 
to  hand.  It  is  no  matter  what  the  action  is  which  is 
commemorative  of  his  affection  and  sufferings, —  the 
only  thing  of  consequence  is,  that  it  should  be  done  "in 
remembrance  of  him."  He  does  not  look  around  and 
choose  some  act,  or  arrange  some  ceremony  with  care, 
adapting  it  to  its  purpose,  and  prescribing  nicely  its 
forms.  No,  he  selects  a  portion  of  the  very  transaction 
which  was  before  him, —  and  consecrates  that.  He  just 
takes  the  bread  which  was  upon  the  table,  and  pours 
out  another  cup  of  wine,  and  says,  *'  Take  these,  as 
emblems  of  my  sufferings  and  death,  incurred  for  the 
remission  of  your  sins,  and  henceforth  do  this  in  remem- 
brance of  me;  as  often  as  you  do  it,  you  will  represent 
the  Lord's  death,  until  he  come."  Had  he  been  walking 
in  a  grove,  instead  of  being  seated  at  a  table,  when  his 
last  hour  with  his  disciples  had  arrived,  he  would,  per- 
haps, on  the  same  principles,  have  broken  off  a  branch 
from  a  tree,  and  distributed  a  portion  to  his  friends;  and 


204 

THE    CORNER-STONE. 

[Ch.7. 

Forms  and  feelings. 

Baptium. 

Tlic  rainbovt. 

then  Christians  would  have  afterwards  commemorated  his 
death,  by  wearing  their  monthly  badge  of  evergreen;  or 
if  he  hud  been  returning  to  Jerusalem,  he  would,  per- 
haps, have  consecrated  tlieir  walk,  and  then,  during  all 
succeeding  ages,  the  sacred  ceremony  would  have  been 
performed  by  a  solemn  procession  of  his  friends.  No 
matter  wliat  the  act  was,  which  was  thus  set  apart  as  a 
memorial.  The  feeling  of  which  it  is  the  symbol,  is  all 
that  is  important. 

The  Savior  acted  evidently  upon  the  same  principles 
in  regard  to  the  other  great  ceremony  of  the  Christian 
religion.  He  wanted  some  mode  by  which  an  open  pro- 
fession of  attachment  to  him  might  be  made;  and  he 
just  adopts  the  one  already  in  use  for  a  similar  purpose. 
He  did  not  contrive  baptism,  as  a  mode  of  publicly  pro- 
fessing piety, —  he  merely  adopted  it,  formed  already,  as 
it  was,  to  his  hands.  The  people  were  accustomed  to  it, 
their  associations  were  already  formed  in  connexion  with 
it,  and  of  course  it  was  the  most  convenient  mode.  He 
would  probably  have  taken  any  other  form,  had  any  other 
one  been  more  convenient  and  common. 

Such  is  the  origin  then  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith.  For  a  mode  of  admission  to  his  church,  he 
simply  takes  the  ordinary  sign  of  religious  profession, 
among  the  people  with  whom  he  lived, —  and  in  the  se- 
lection of  a  ceremony  to  commemorate  his  sufferings 
and  death,  and  to  be  in  all  ages  and  in  every  land  a  per- 
petual memorial  of  the  most  momentous  transaction 
which  ever  occurred,  he  is,  if  possible,  more  indifferent  ■ 
still.  He  simply  pauses  a  moment  upon  the  last  act  he 
performed  in  the  company  of  his  friends,  and  consecrates 
that,  trivial  as  in  itself  it  was,  to  the  great  purpose  he 
had  in  view.  It  reminds  us  of  a  transaction  which  oe- 
curred  twenty-five  centuries  before,  when  Jehovah,  after 
the  flood,  wishing  to  quiet  the  fears  which  clouds  and 
storms  might  awaken  in  human  breasts,  just  takes  the 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  205 

Ceremonies  symbolical.  Monuments.  A  contrast. 

rainbow,  the  object  most  obvious  on  the  occasion  when  it 
is  wanted,  as  the  token  of  his  promised  protection.  In 
nothing  more  strikingly  than  in  this,  are  false  religions 
distinguishable  from  true.  The  former  are  yielding  and 
flexible  as  to  principles,  but  minute  in  the  specification  of 
forms,  and  unbending  in  the  exaction  of  obedience.  The 
latter  makes  moral  principle  the  rock,  unmoved  and  im- 
movable though  heaven  and  earth  should  pass  away;  but 
when  it  comes  to  signs  and  ceremonies, —  almost  any 
thing  will  do.  The  ordinances  of  the  gospel  are  indeed 
appropriate  and  symbolical,  but  they  are  no  more  so, 
than  a  thousand  others  would  have  been,  which,  under  a 
little  different  circumstances,  it  would  have  been  quite 
as  convenient  to  adopt.  The  ceremony  of  admission  to 
the  church  would  have  had  as  much  meaning  if  it  had 
consisted  simply  in  holding  up  the  hands  to  heaven,  or 
appearing  in  a  white  robe,  the  emblem  of  purity,  or 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  the  forehead. 

And  yet  there  is  something  in  the  simple  act  which 
Jesus  Christ  consecrated  as  a  memorial  of  him,  which 
renders  it  admirably  adapted  to  its  purpose.  Other 
persons  have  generally  endeavored  to  perpetuate  their 
memory  by  leaving  some  magnificent  monument  behind 
them.  One  of  the  most  striking  exhibitions  that  human 
beings  make  of  the  mysterious  principles  of  their  nature, 
is,  by  their  desperate  struggles  to  keep  a  place  for  their 
names  upon  the  earth,  after  they  have  themselves  gone 
beneath  the  ground.  One  founds  a  city;  another,  at  a 
vast  expense,  erects  a  mausoleum,  and  a  third  stamps 
his  effigy  upon  a  medal  or  a  coin.  But  Jesus  Christ 
understood  human  nature  better.  He  used  no  marble, 
or  brass,  or  iron, —  he  laid  no  deep  foundations,  and 
reared  no  lofty  columns.  When  he  bade  the  world 
farewell,  he  simply  asked  his  friends  occasionally  to  do 
one  little  act,  in  remembrance  of  him. 

He  was  wiser  than  the  builders  of  the  pyramids.      A 
18 


t06  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7. 

The  pyramids  and  the  Lord'ri  8up|K;r.  Test  of  sincerityw 

hundred  thousand  men,  if  ancient  story  be  true,  were 
employed  by  one  monarch,  for  twenty  years,  in  rearing 
the  pile  which  was  to  perj)ctuate  his  memory.  The 
Savior  did  the  work,  and  did  it  better,  by  a  few  parting 
words. 

Yes;  Jesus  Christ  left  us  as  a  memorial,  not  a  mag- 
nificent thing  to  be  looked  at,  but  a  very  simple  thing  to 
be  done;  and  the  influence,  in  keeping  the  remembrance 
of  the  Savior  before  the  minds  of  men,  which  the  simple 
ceremony  has  exerted,  for  eighteen  centuries,  and  which 
it  still  exerts,  shows  the  wisdom  of  the  plan.  Its 
very  simplicity,  too,  is  the  means  of  rendering  it,  to  a 
considerable  extent,  a  test  of  the  sincerity  of  professed 
attachment  to  the  Savior;  for  the  ceremony  cannot  long 
continue  in  its  simplicity,  unless  such  attachment  sus- 
tains it.  When  love  is  gone,  it  becomes  unmeaning, 
and,  from  its  very  nature,  there  is  nothing  but  its  mean- 
ing to  give  it  interest  among  men.  When  the  heart 
ceases  to  be  in  it,  then,  there  is  but  one  alternative, — 
it  must  lose  its  whole  value,  and  ultimately  be  aban- 
doned, or  else  pomp  and  parade  must  come  in,  to  supply 
the  interest  which  grateful  recollection  ought  to  give. 
It  has  accordingly,  in  some  cases,  been  converted  into 
pomp  and  parade,  and  in  others  gradually  lost  its  interest 
and  disappeared.  But  with  these  dangers  on  every  side, 
the  institution  has  still  lived  and  flourished,  and  is 
spreading  to  every  nation  on  the  globe. 

We  have  already,  once  or  twice,  alluded  to  the  manner 
in  which  our  Savior  selected  and  established  the  cere- 
monies of  our  religion,  as  evidence  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  regarded  them,  viz.  as  means,  valuable  only 
on  accoaint  of  their  conduciveness  to  an  end ; —  and  that 
end  too,  a  moral,  not  a  ceremonial  one.  This  consid- 
eration is  important  to  us  now,  because  it  affects  the 
degree  of  strictness,  with  which  we  observe  these  insti- 
tutions  in  their  precise  form.      If  the  ceremonies  had 


Ch.   7.]  .  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  207 

Exact  obedience.    The  father's  two  directions.    Principles  of  comjjliance. 

been  valuable  on  their  own  account,  if  there  had  been 
any  intrinsic  efficacy  in  them,  and  if,  in  consequence  of 
this,  their  details  had  been  minutely  prescribed,  they 
should  have  been  observed  with  the  most  precise  and 
scrupulous  accuracy.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are 
solely  valuable  on  account  of  their  moral  expression,  so 
to  speak,  then  such  precise  and  scrupulous  accuracy  is 
not  necessary.  There  ought,  certainly,  to  be  no  devia- 
tions without  sufficient  cause,  in  either  case;  but  a  cause 
which  would  abundantly  justify  deviation  in  the  latter, 
would  not  justify  it  in  the  former.  If  for  instance  a 
father,  on  leaving  home,  gives  direction  that  a  sick  child 
should  take  a  certain  medicine  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  to  be  followed  two  hours  afterwards  with  bath- 
ing, in  water  prepared  in  a  prescribed  way,  it  would 
be  the  duty  of  those  left  in  charge  to  be  precise  in  com- 
pliance. The  efficacy  is  in  the  tilings  to  he  done,  not  in 
their  moral  effect,  and  consequently  the  things  must  be 
done  exactly.  On  the  other  hand,  suppose  that  he  re- 
quested his  family  to  assemble  at  a  certain  window, 
where  they  had  often  sat  with  him,  every  Saturday 
evening,  at  seven  o'clock,  to  sing  a  hymn  which  he  had 
written  and  taught  them.  Here  the  object  is  of  a  differ- 
ent kind,  altogether.  The  directions  are  just  as  precise, 
but  the  common  sense  of  every  family  would  make  a 
distinction  between  the  degree  of  exact  precision  neces- 
sary in  compliance.  If,  on  some  evening,  company  was 
present,  and  protracted  their  stay  beyond  the  time  as- 
signed, they  would  assemble  to  sing  their  hymn  of  re- 
membrance half  an  hour  later.  But  company  would  not 
have  led  them  to  postpone  administering  the  medicine, 
beyond  the  appointed  time.  So  if  the  room  assigned 
for  the  meeting  was,  on  some  evening,  cold,  and  uncom- 
fortable, they  would  not  hesitate  to  assemble  around  the 
fire  in  another  apartment  instead  of  that;  oe  if  the 
mother  was  sick  and  confined  to  her  chamber,  on  one 


208  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7. 

Ceremonies  of  faUe  and  true  religions.  Meaning  of  '  Do  ihiB.' 

of  the  Saturday  evenings  during  the  father's  absence, 
they  would  gatlier  round  her  bed,  to  si  'g  their  hymn. 
They  would,  however,  by  no  means,  be  led  to  deviate 
80  easily  from  the  precise  directions  in  the  other  case. 
They  would  not,  perhaps,  point  out  to  one  another  the 
philosophical  grounds  of  the  distinction,  but  there  would 
be  an  immediate  and  spontaneous  perception  of  it,  and 
its  influence  upon  their  practice  would  be  decided. 

The  ceremonies  of  false  religions  are  of  the  former 
kind;  that  is,  rather  of  the  former  than  the  latter.  Their 
value  does  not  consist  in  their  moral  expression,  but  in 
their  supposed  intrinsic  eflicacy.  The  Hindoo  bathes  in 
the  Ganges,  and  the  Mussulman  mutters  his  prayers, 
with  a  view  to  the  efficacy  of  the  ceremony  itself  This 
efficacy  is  all  imaginary,  we  admit, —  still  it  is  with  a 
view  to  it  that  he  acts,  and  consequently  he  must  be 
precise  and  punctilious  as  to  forms.  True  religion 
makes  use  of  outward  rites  for  a  different  purpose;  their 
meaning,  and  the  feelings  of  the  heart  with  which  they 
are  performed  are  every  thing,  and  we  are  consequently 
held  to  far  less  punctilious  exactness  as  to  forms.  The 
vague  and  general  terms  in  which  these  rites  were  insti- 
tuted, show,  as  we  have  already  once  or  twice  remarked, 
that  our  Savior  took  this  view  of  them.  "  Do  ihis  in 
remembrance  of  me."  What  is  meant  by  doing  thisl 
What  is  this,  precisely?  How  much  is  included  in  it. 
Does  it  mean.  Eat  and  diiiik,  in  remembrance  of  me,  or 
Eat  hrtad  and  drink  wine,  or  Eat  bread  and  drink  wine, 
together,  or  Eat  bread  and  dnnk  tvine  together  after  a 
supper.  I  might  go  on  so  indefinitely,  adding  circum- 
stance after  circumstance,  and  inquire  how  many  of  all 
are  meant  to  be  included  in  the  phrase  "Do  this.*' 
The  general  practice  of  Christians  has  decided  to  stop 
at  the  third  of  the  above  steps,  that  is.  Doing  this,  means 
Eat  bread  and  diink  loine,  together,  in  remembrance  of 
me;    but   they  would  probably   find  it  difficult  to  show 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  209 

Circumstances  excluded.  Principles.  Moral  effect  to  be  secured. 

why  they  imitate  the  Savior's  example  in  respect  to  the 
nature  of  the  food,  and  to  partaking  of  it  in  an  assembly 
of  Christians,  and  not  in  the  many  other  circumstances 
which  were  a  part  of  the  transaction  then,  but  are  not  so 
now.  It  was  in  the  night, —  females  were  excluded, — 
there  was  a  supper  before  the  ceremony, —  and  this 
supper  was  an  annual  festival.  By  common  consent  we 
exclude  all  these  circumstances,  in  interpreting  the 
phrase  "  Do  this."  I  have  said  it  would  be  difficult  to 
show  why  we  go  just  so  far  as  we  do,  and  no  farther,  in 
interpreting  the  language;  I  mean  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  grounds  for  precisely  the  selection  which  has,  by 
common  consent,  been  made,  in  any  thing  which  was 
actually  said  and  done  on  the  occasion.  But  by  taking 
the  views  of  the  nature  and  design  of  religious  rites, 
which  are  presented  above,  the  case  is  clear.  The 
moral  meaning  and  the  moral  influence  of  the  ceremony 
being  all  that  are  essential,  we  are  regulated  by  them, 
in  regard  to  the  degree  of  precision  with  which  we  fol- 
low the  example  set  us.  So  far  as  is  convenient,  and 
only  so  far,  we  conform  in  respect  to  the  food;  so  as  not 
unnecessarily  to  vary  from  the  original  circumstances. 
We  come  together  to  celebrate  the  ordinance;  for  the 
assembling  of  Christians  for  the  purpose,  is  a  circum- 
stance which  contributes  to  the  moral  effect.  We  admit 
females,  for  the  same  reason.  We  do  not  insist  on  its 
being  after  a  supper,  nor  at  an  annual  festival,  nor  in 
the  night,  nor  in  an  upper  chamber,  for  all  these,  though 
doubtless  they  were  the  circumstances  under  which  the 
institution  was  established,  have  no  share  in  the  produc- 
tion of  the  effect.  The  whole  christian  world  most  evi- 
dently takes  this  view  of  the  ordinance,  in  practice;  and 
our  Savior  would  undoubtedly  have  been  more  precise 
and  specific  in  his  directions,  if  he  had  intended  that  we 
should  take  any  other  view. 

I   have  dwelt,   perhaps,  longer  on  this  subject,  than 
*  18* 


410  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   7. 

No  dispute  on  this  subject.  Principles  universally  applicable.  Formalista. 

many  readers  will  think  necessary,  because  it  is  one, 
they  will  say,  on  which  there  is  no  dispute.  This  is  the 
very  reason  why  1  have  made  it  the  occasion  of  present- 
ing what,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  true  view  of  the  cere- 
monial aspects  of  Christianity.  The  principles,  which 
appear  clear  and  plain  here,  because  the  mind  can  look 
at  them  uninfluenced  by  any  bias,  are  universally  appli- 
cable, and  it  is  of  immense  consequence  that  every  mind 
which  is  shaping  its  views  of  religious  truth,  should 
entertain  right  views  here.  There  are  formalists  in  all 
denominations  of  Christians,  and  perhaps  quite  as  many 
in  those  which,  in  theory,  are  most  decided  in  their  re- 
jection of  forms.  As  society  advances,  and  as  new 
denominations  arise,  new  religious  customs  gradually 
grow  up,  established  first  by  a  few  leading  Christians, 
and  acquiring,  in  process  of  years,  a  very  strong  ascen- 
dency over  the  mind.  There  is  no  harm  in  this,  if  it  is 
always  borne  in  mind,  that  these  are  all  means,  not  ends, 
and  that  moral  effect  on  the  heart  and  life  is  the  only 
object  which  is  ultimately  valuable.  There  is  a  great 
tendency  in  the  human  mind  to  forget  this,  and  to  sub- 
stitute the  sign  for  the  thing  signified, —  to  rest  upon  the 
mere  form, —  and  to  attach  that  importance  to  a  precise 
compliance  with  the  circumstances  of  its  original  insti- 
tution, which  belongs  only  to  the  moral  power  it  should 
have  over  the  heart.  By  feeling  and  acting  thus,  we 
leave  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  and  approach  towards 
the  practices  and  feelings  of  pagan  superstition,  where 
form  is  all,  and  spirituality  nothing.  We  go  to  different 
lengths  in  this  approximation,  and  in  some  cases,  the 
whole  journey  is  made,  and  the  professing  Christian,  in 
the  frigid  formality  of  his  observances,  seems  to  come 
out  almost  entirely  upon  the  pagan  ground.  The  reader 
will,  very  probably,  charge  such  a  fault,  however,  upon 
other  denominations,  not  upon  his  own;  but  there  is 
unfortunately,  no  monopoly  of  this  sia     Where  it  would 


Ch.  7.J  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  211 

No  denomination  free.      Liberality.      Difference  of  opinion  unavoidable. 

be  perhaps  least  expected,  it  sometimes  most  decidedly 
appears.  Many  a  congregationalist  attends  his  private 
meeting,  or  stands  up  to  hear  an  extemporaneous  prayer 
with  as  much  of  the  spirit  of  the  formalist,  as  ever  a 
Catholic  felt  when  counting  his  beads,  or  burning  can- 
dles before  the  picture  of  the  virgin.  Substituting  the 
forms  for  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  is  one  of  the  in- 
veterate and  universal  habits  of  the  human  soul; — 
interwoven  with  all  its  feelings,  and  as  difficult  to  be 
eradicated  as  any  one.  Its  action  is  less  apparent  in 
those  denominations  whose  modes  of  government  and 
of  worship  are  not  precisely  arranged,  but  it  is  not  less 
real; — and  how  much  less  common  it  is,  is  perhaps  more 
doubtful,  than  is  generally  supposed. 

Understand  then.  Christian,  what  is  the  true  natui-e 
and  design  of  a  religious  ceremony,  whether  it  was 
instituted  by  Christ,  or  has  gradually  grown  up  as  a 
religious  custom,  in  the  denomination  with  which  you 
are  connected.  Consider  well  that  its  whole  value,  and 
its  whole  power,  consists  in  its  spiritual  effect  on  the  heart 
and  conscience.  See  that  you  secure  this,  and  never 
surrender  your  heart  to  the  deadening  influence  of 
scrupulous  attachmemt  to  mere  external  ceremony. 

There  is  one  error  on  this  subject  into  which  we  are 
very  likely  to  fall,  and  of  which  we  are  more  especially 
in  danger,  in  proportion  as  we  more  fully  adopt  the  views 
above  presented.  The  danger  is  this,  that  we  shall  per- 
tinaciously insist  that  other  Christians,  and  other  denom- 
inations particularly,  shall  come  precisely  to  our  standard 
in  regard  to  this  subject.  Now  since  our  Savior  left  his 
directions  so  general,  there  must  inevitably  be  a  difl^er- 
ence  of  opinion  among  Christians  in  regard  to  the  preci- 
sion with  which  we  must  imitate  the  circumstances  of  the 
first  establishment  of  these  ceremonies;  in  fact  it  is  not 
improbable  that  the  different  circumstances  and  relations 
of  society,  render  some   variety  desirable.     Now  each 


212  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  7 

Case  supposed.      Wine  of  Palestine.      Each  church  must  judge  for  itseli 

body  of  Christians  is  bound  to  act  according  to  its  own 
ideas  of  the  Savior's  wishes,  and  the  rest  ought  not  to 
complain.  Suppose,  for  example,  a  Christian  church 
were  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  they  ought  to  make 
use  of  the  wine  of  Palestine  for  the  ordinance  of  the 
Lord's  supper.  They  arc  honest  in  this  opinion,  we  will 
suppose,  and  at  a  considerable  expense  send  to  Palestine 
and  procure  a  supply,  and  always  make  use  of  it  at 
their  communion  seasons.  We  suppose  them  to  be  mis- 
taken,—  yet  still  they  are  honest,  and  really  think  that 
the  Savior  intended  them  to  comply  in  this  particular, 
with  his  example.  They  gather  therefore  quietly  by 
themselves,  and  celebrate  the  supper  according  to  their 
own  views  of  the  requisitions  of  their  Lord.  Of  course 
they  must  think  that  other  churches  are  not  complying, 
and  must  say  so;  and  though  they  may  admit  that  tlieir 
members  are  sincere  and  devoted  Christians,  they  cannot 
consider  them  as  performing  aright  their  official  duty 
as  a  Christian  church.  Now  what,  most  plainly,  is  the 
duty  of  other  churches  in  such  a  case?  Why,  to  leave 
these  their  brethren  unmolested,  and  in  peace  at  their 
own  communion  table,  to  comply  with  the  directions  of 
their  Lord  according  to  their  own  understanding  of  them; 
to  do  this  pleasantly  and  good-humoredly,  too,  without 
any  taunts  and  reproaches  about  their  uncharitableness 
and  censoriousness  and  closeness  of  communion. 

In  the  same  manner  if  one  denomination  suppose  some 
circumstances  in  the  mode  of  ordaining  pastors,  or  ad- 
mitting members  to  the  churches,  or  some  views  of 
christian  duty,  to  be  essential,  while  they  are  not  so 
regarded  by  others,  what  ought  the  others  to  do.''  Why 
simply  to  allow  them  to  pursue  their  own  course,  unmo- 
lested and  in  peace.  They  are  bound  to  act  according 
to  their  own  views  of  the  wishes  of  the  Savior.  If  they 
do  honestly  consider  that  some  conditions  with  which 
you  have  not  complied,  are  essential  to  a  proper  ceiebra- 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  213 

Modes  of  ordination.  Admission  to  the  church.  True  intolerance. 

tion  of  the  Lord's  supper,  they  cannot  consistently, 
however  much  they  may  esteem  your  piety,  admit  you 
to  their  table  until  you  have  complied  with  them.  You 
ought  not  then,  in  such  a  case,  to  stand  knocking  at  the 
door  and  demanding  entrance; — you  ought  to  go  quietly 
and  spread  a  table  for  yourselves.  They  do  not  prevent 
it.  They  simply  say,  our  views  and  yours  differ  as  to 
what  in  this  point  is  essential; —  we  must  be  governed  by 
our  convictions, —  therefore  in  this  point,  and  this  only, 
we  must  separate. 

In  the  same  manner,  if  a  class  of  Christians  think  that 
a  certain  mode  of  ordination  is  the  only  valid  one,  or  that 
certain  views  of  religious  truth  are  essential,  they  cannot 
of  course  include  those  who  differ  from  them  in  these 
respects  in  the  circle  of  official  ministerial  intercourse. 
There  is  no  bigotry  or  intolerance  in  this.  There  is 
certainly  no  bigotry  or  intolerance,  in  a  man's  doing  what 
he  himself  thinks  is  right,  if  he  does  not  molest  his 
neighbors,  or  prevent,  by  other  means  than  moral  ones, 
their  doing  what  they  think  right.  Nor  is  there  any,  in 
a  church's  confining  its  official  measures,  strictly  to  the 
field  which  is  marked  out  by  its  own  views  of  official 
duty.  The  world  is  wide  enough  for  other  churches  to 
act  freely  according  to  their  ideas.  No;  the  intolerance 
and  bigotry  is  all  on  the  other  side.  It  is  not  in  the 
quiet  firmness  with  which  a  church  guards  its  doors 
according  to  its  own  conscientious  ideas  of  duty,  but  it 
is  in  loud  vociferations  of  the  crowd  which  has  assembled 
without,  demanding  admittance  as  a  right.  If  there  was 
but  one  communion  table,  and  but  one  pulpit  in  the 
world,  the  majority  in  possession  should  indeed  be  careful 
whom  they  excluded;  and  if  the  disciples  of  Christ  were, 
or  ought  to  be,  united  into  one  great  denomination,  they 
who  should  obtain  the  control  of  its  measures,  would  rest 
under  a  most  fearful  responsibility.  But  this  the  Savior 
undoubtedly  never  intended.     He  made  no  arrangement 


214  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  7. 

Practical  application.  Weak  and  sickly  Ctiristiuns.  Uirectiooflb 

for  such  an  organization,  and  did  not  command  it.  In 
carry  ingf  out  his  principles,  and  in  extending  thcmtlirough- 
out  the  globe,  Christians  unite  themselves  in  companies, 
and  Imk  tliemselves  together  by  ties,  just  as  they  please: 
and  cacii  band  must  be  governed  by  its  own  views  of 
truth  and  duty,  and  ought  to  be  left  without  molestation 
by  the  rest.  We  may  try  to  alter  by  argument,  the  views 
themselves,  but  not  complain  of  tiieir  acting  according 
to  tiiem,  as  long  as  they  are  entertained;  nor  load  them 
^vith  opprobrious  epithets,  because  their  views  of  church 
policy,  compel  them  to  deny  our  regular  official  connex- 
ion with  it.  Their  denial  can  do  us  no  harm,  if  they 
leave  us  to  act  unmolested  in  our  own  conimunion,  and 
we  ought  to  leave  them  to  act  unmolested  in  theirs. 

The  celebration  of  the  Lord's  supper  is  particularly 
described  again  in  the  New  Testament,  viz.  in  the  epis- 
tle to  the  Corinthians.  Paul  there  tells  his  readers  that 
there  were  a  great  many  weak  and  sickly  Christians  in 
their  church,  and  attributes  it  to  their  negligence  in 
respect  to  this  ordinance.  There  are  weak  and  sickly 
Christians  every  where,  and  the  communion  service,  if  it 
was  properly  understood,  would  be  the  most  effectual 
means  of  restoring  them  to  health.  In  bringing  this 
chapter  to  a  conclusion,  then,  it  may  be  well  to  call  the 
attention  of  the  reader  a  little  to  this  point.  How  shall 
we  celebrate  the  Lord's  supper?  How  shall  we  secure 
the  spiritual  effect  of  it,  according  to  the  views  present- 
ed in  the  preceding  pages? 

Consider  what  the  ceremony  means.  It  is  intended 
to  bring  to  our  minds  the  death  of  Christ, —  to  remind  us 
of  his  blood  flowing,  and  his  body  laceratedybr  us, — "  for 
the  remission  of  sins,"  as  is  expressly  stated.  In  order  to 
eat  the  bread  then,  and  drink  the  cup,  worthily,  this  must 
be  in  mind,  and  it  is  the  moral  and  spiritual  eflfect  of  this 


Ch.   7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  OJ5 

The  sickly  Christian.  Preparatory  lecture.  Communion  day, 

truth  upon  the  heart,  which  is  to  be  chiefly  sought  for 
when  we  come  around  the  table  of  the  Lord. 

*'  It  is  preparatory  lecture  to-night,"  says  one  of  the 
weak,  sickly  Christians  pointed  at  by  Paul,  in  the  pas- 
sage above  quoted.     "  Let  me  see, —  shall  I  go?  " 

He  has  been  all  day  engaged  in  the  world,  and  his 
heart  is  still  full  of  its  interests  and  cares.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  is  the  habit  of  going  to  the  preparatory  lec- 
ture. After  a  contest  of  a  few  minutes,  between  these 
two,  the  habit,  or,  as  it  perhaps  should  be  called,  the 
attachment  to  form,  conquers,  though  he  fancies  that 
the  victory  is  gained  by  christian  principle.  He  walks 
along  at  the  appointed  time,  either  thinking  of  his  world- 
ly plans,  or  else  indulging  a  feeling  of  self-complacence 
at  his  superior  interest  in  religious  duty,  when  he  sees 
how  few  of  his  brethren  are  to  be  there. 

He  listens  to  the  discourse,  much  as  he  would  to  any 
other  sermon,  and  applies  the  general  considerations  it 
presents,  with  the  same  fidelity,  to  his  own  case,  that 
this  class  of  Christians  usually  exemplify.  On  his  way 
home,  he  may  make  a  remark  or  two  about  the  discourse, 
or  the  smallness  of  the  number  present,  and  then  the 
world,  even  if  it  was  actually  excluded  while  he  was  in 
the  house  of  God,  which  is  more  than  doubtful,  presses 
in  upon  him  again.  The  approaching  solemnity  passes 
from  his  mind,  until,  on  the  next  sabbath,  when  he  ia 
walking  up  the  aisle  to  his  pew,  his  eye  catches  the  plate 
arranged  for  the  ordinance,  and  he  says  to  himself,  "  Oh, 
it  is  communion  to-day." 

During  the  administration  of  the  ordinance,  he  endea- 
vors to  listen  to  the  pastor's  remarks,  but  he  finds  it 
somewhat  difficult  to  attend  to  them.  Some  few  very 
vague  a»d  general  religious  impressions  pass  through 
his  mind,  and  when  the  cup  is  handed  to  him,  he  looks 
serious,  and  takes  his  portion  with  a  very  reverential  air, 
and  something  like  a  general  supplication  for  forgiveness, 


216  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch,  X 

Feeling  at  the  cotiununion  table.        ItB  true  design.        Its  pro))cr  effectA» 

and  for  greater  measures  of  holiness,  pass  through  his 
mind.  There  is  something  hke  a  slight  feeling  of  im- 
patience at  the  delay  while  the  elements  are  distrihuting 
to  the  others.  And  yet  is  not  impatience,  exactly, —  but 
he  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  thoughts,  and  he  feels  a 
little  satisfaction  when  the  ceremony  is  over.  It  is  very 
slight,  and  he  will  not  acknowledge  it  even  to  himself, — 
but  it  is  in  his  heart;  and  he  walks  home  feeling  that  he 
has  been  discharging  a  duty,  which,  though  it  was  not 
an  unpleasant  one  certainly,  he  still  is  glad  that  it  is 
done. 

It  is  a  dead  letter;  a  lifeless,  heartless,  useless  form; 
and  thousands  of  Christians  every  where,  thus  pervert 
the  ordinance  which  God  designed  to  be  perhaps  one  of 
the  most  efficacious  means  of  grace  that  the  Christian 
is  permitted  to  enjoy. 

Now  in  order  clearly  to  understand  the  mode  in  which 
this  ordinance  ought  to  be  celebrated,  so  as  to  secure  its 
spiritual  blessings,  let  the  reader  call  to  mind  what  was 
said  in  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  respecting  the 
means  by  which  the  soul  is  to  come  to  Christ  in  faith,  so 
as  to  secure  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and  spiritual  strength 
for  the  future,  through  a  union  willi  him.  The  great  de- 
sign of  the  Lord's  supper  is  simply  to  reneiu  this  union. 
When  we  first  repent  of  sin,  and  return  to  duty,  we  come 
to  the  Savior,  and  seek  such  a  connexion  with  him,  that 
our  sins  may  be  pardoned  through  his  sufferings  and 
death,  and  that  we  may  have  strength  furnished  us  from 
him,  to  go  on  our  way  safely  in  future.  If  this  change 
was  entire  and  complete, —  if  it  overturned  for  ever  the 
dominion  of  sin,  and  established  the  perpetual  and  per- 
fect reign  of  holiness,  we  should  perhaps  never  have 
occasion  to  repeat  the  transaction,  and  our  celebration 
of  the  supper  would  be  simply  an  act  of  grateful  re- 
membrance,—  a  memorial  merely  of  the  Savior's  love. 
But  it  is  not  so.      Sin  continues  its  hold.     .It  is  always 


Ch.  7.]  THE   LAST    SUPPER.  2IT 

Examination.  Confession.  Reunion.  Partaking  unworthily. 

ready  to  rise  to  re-assert  successfully  its  power,  and  the 
communion  season  returns  to  us  from  time  to  time,  to 
give  us  an  opportunity  of  breaking  free  again  and  again, 
and  seeking  by  the  moral  power  of  the  sufferings  and 
death  we  celebrate,  new  relief  for  the  conscience,  new 
pardon  for  sin,  new  spiritual  life,  new  peace  and  higher 
happiness.  Whenever  therefore  it  returns,  it  should 
bring  us  to  a  most  thorough  and  effectual  investigation 
of  our  standing  and  progress  as  disciples  of  the  Savior. 
It  is  the  time  of  periodical  settlement  between  our  souls 
and  God,  when  the  account  should  be  most  carefully 
examined,  and  all  sins  brought  out  fully  to  view,  every 
secret  hold  which  the  world  has  upon  us  should  be  dis- 
covered and  broken,  and  thus  the  soul  should  be  brought 
into  a  state  to  give  itself  away  anew,  and  without  reserve 
to  its  Master's  work.  The  world  and  its  cares  are  to  be 
left  behind,  all  past  sins  fully  examined,  and  fully  ac- 
knowledged, and  the  responsibility  for  them  is  to  be 
brought  and  laid  upon  him  who  is  mighty  to  save. 
Peace  would  then  return.  The  collected  anxieties  and 
the  troubles  of  conscience  would  all  disappear.  Habits 
of  sin  beginning  to  be  formed  would  be  broken  up,  and 
the  soul  refreshed  and  restored,  and  reunited  to  its 
Savior,  would  have  made,  at  each  successive  return  of 
the  solemn  ceremony,  a  decided  advance  in  holiness  and 
happiness.  But  how  different  is  it  in  fact.  We  come  to 
the  scene  of  our  Master's  sufferings  and  death,  and  bring 
the  worid  all  with  us.  One  comes  with  his  quarrels, 
another  with  his  business;  this  brother  leads  some  dar- 
ling sin  in  by  the  hand,  and  that  one  is  cold  and  hard  in 
heart,  looking  on  with  stupid  indifference  at  the  solemn 
symbols.  Of  one  thing,  however,  we  may  be  sure.  The 
design  of  this  ordinance  is  very  clear,  and  God  has  indi- 
cated very  plainly  what  are  the  feelings  with  which  he 
wishes  us  to  observe  it;  and  he  has  left,  in  the  most  de- 
cisive language,  his  warning  of  the  danger  of  our  thus 
19 


218  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  1. 


Guilt  aod  conaevjuences  of  it.  Lukewarm  Christiana. 

coming  and  profaning  what  he  has  made  sacred.  The 
institution  was  designed  to  have  a  deep  meaning,  and  to 
produce  a  powerful  effect.  By  coming  without  examin- 
ation, and  without  preparation  of  heart,  and  without  a 
desire  for  the  spiritual  blessings  it  is  designed  to  pro- 
cure, we  are  doing  all  we  can  to  degrade  what  God  has 
elevated, —  to  destroy  its  character  and  power,  and  its 
spiritual  influence,  and  to  bring  it  to  contempt. 

I  need  not  repeat  the  language  in  which  God  has 
threatened  those  who  eat  and  drink  unworthily.  It  would 
be  plain,  if  such  language  had  not  been  used,  that  God 
must  consider  the  intrusion  of  worldliness  and  sin,  into 
the  places  which  he  had  endeavored  to  make  sacred,  as 
an  offence  of  the  highest  character.  The  prosperity 
of  his  kingdom,  in  this  world,  depends  more  upon  the 
purity  of  his  church,  and  the  elevation  of  its  standard 
of  piety,  than  upon  any  thing  else;  and  throughout  the 
whole  of  the  New  Testament,  no  design  is  more  ap- 
parent, or  more  earnestly  pursued,  than  that  of  separat- 
ing his  friends,  by  a  clear  line  of  demarcation,  from  his 
enemies,  and  keeping  his  church  pure.  The  worldly 
Christians,  or  rather  the  woildly  professors  of  religion, 
crowd  around  this  line,  and  obliterate  all  its  distinct- 
ness. They  allure  many  a  sincere  follower  to  it,  who 
would  otherwise  keep  away,  and  thus  they  are  thwarting, 
most  directly  and  most  effectually,  the  progress  of  the 
Savior's  kingdom.  If  all  the  cold  and  worldly  and  indii^ 
ferent  professors  of  religion  could  be  exchanged,  each  for 
t€n  boisterous  and  inveterate  enemies,  piety  might  pro- 
claim a  jubilee  at  the  brightening  prospects  of  her  cause. 
But  what  shall  we  do,  perhaps  some  one  may  ask,  if 
we  find,  when  the  time  of  the  communion  season  arrives, 
that  our  hearts  are  not  in  the  right  state, —  shall  we 
stay  away  ? —  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  staying  away. 
What  you  had  better  do,  if  you  are  a  professing  Chris- 
tian, and  will  not  give  up  the  world  and  sin,  when  the 


Ch.  7.]  THE    LAST    SUPPER.  219 

The  sad  alternative.  The  Savior's  farewell  Hymn. 

time  arrives  for  renewing  your  solemn  consecration  of 
yourself  to  your  Maker's  service,  I  do  not  know.  It  is 
a  sad  alternative,  if  you  are  fixed  upon  it,  either  to  dis- 
obey Christ's  command  altogether,  or  to  comply  hypo- 
critically. I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  you  which  to  choose. 
One  thing  however  is  certain,  that  if  you  had  any  ade- 
quate ideas  of  your  obligations  and  your  accountability, 
—  if  you  felt  at  all  what  it  is  to  go  into  the  very  presence 
of  the  Savior,  and  among  his  best  friends, —  yourself  a 
secret  enemy;  if,  in  a  word,  you  could  see  the  solemn 
ceremony  which  he  instituted  as  he  sees  it,  you  would 
be  afraid  to  go  and  be  the  Judas  there. 

''And  when  they  had  sung  an  hymn  they  went  out 
into  the  Mount  of  Olives."  The  Savior  and  his  disciples 
stood  around  their  table  and  sang  an  hymn.  It  was  the 
Redeemer's  last  public  act,  his  final  farewell.  He  had 
presided  over  many  an  assembly,  guiding  their  devotions 
or  explaining  to  them  the  principles  of  religion.  Some- 
times the  thronging  multitudes  had  gathered  around  him 
on  the  sea  shore;  sometimes  they  had  crowded  into  a 
private  dwelling,  and  sometimes  he  sat  in  the  synagogue, 
and  explained  the  law.  But  the  last  moment  had  come; 
he  was  presiding  in  the  last  assembly,  which,  by  his 
mortal  powers,  he  should  ever  address,  and  when  the 
hour  for  separation  came,  the  last  tones  in  which  his 
voice  uttered  itself,  were  heard  in  song. 

What  could  have  been  their  hymn.'*  Its  sentiments 
and  feelings,  they  who  can  appreciate  the  occasion,  may 
perhaps  conceive,  but  what  were  its  words.'*  Beloved 
disciple,  why  didst  thou  not  record  them.'*  They  should 
have  been  sung  in  every  nation,  and  language  and  clime. 
We  would  have  fixed  them  in  our  hearts,  and  taught 
them  to  our  children,  and  when  we  came  together,  to 
commemorate  our  Redeemer's  sufferings,  we  would  never 
have  separated  without  singing  his  parting  hymn. 


220  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

Dramatic  interest  of  the  narrative  of  the  crucitixLon. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    CRUCIFIERS. 

"  The  Lord  lonkcth  on  the  heart." 

An  instance  of  as  high  dramatic  beauty  and  interest  as 
the  Bible  furnishes,  is  to  be  found  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  circumstances  connected  with  the  great  final  scene 
which  it  portrays.  Fiction  could  not  have  arranged 
these  circumstances  with  more  admirable  adaptation  to 
the  production  of  effect,  and  yet  nature  and  truth  had 
never  more  complete,  or  more  evident  control.  Perhaps 
the  most  remarkable  feature  of  the  picture,  is  the  number 
of  distinct  and  strongly  marked  characters  which  appear 
as  actors.  Here  is  irreligion  in  all  the  variety  of  its 
forms.  Hostility  to  God  sends  its  representatives  in  all 
the  leading  shapes  which  it  assumes,  to  exhibit  themselves 
conspicuously  here,  in  the  view  of  all  the  world. 

This  was  intended  for  our  instruction.  Characters 
portrayed  in  the  New  Testament  are  portrayed  for  the 
purpose  of  throwing  light  upon  duty,  or  upon  the  nature 
and  tendencies  of  sin;  but  we  shield  ourselves  from  all 
influence  in  this  case,  on  account  of  the  enormity  of  the 
consequences  which  resulted.  No  man  thinks  of  compar- 
ing himself  with  Pontius  Pilate;  and  Christians,  though 
they  often  quote  the  example  of  Peter,  seldom  think  that 
they  have  been  guilty  of  his  sin.  The  enormity  of  the 
crime,  to  which  sin,  in  this  case,  led,  has  invested  the 
whole  transaction  with  such  a  character,  as,  in  the  view 
of  men,  to  place  it  entirely  beyond  the  region  of  reproof 
and  warning  to  them.  One  great  design,  unquestionably, 
in  allowing  this  scene  to  be  acted,  was  to  let  the  whole 
human  family  see,  what  disastrous  effects  would  be  pro- 
ducedj  in  peculiar  circumstances,  by  very  common  sins^ 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  221 

It?  moral  effect  often  lost.  Three  stages  of  guilt. 

We  evade  the  intended  effect  altogether,  by  setting  the 
whole  transaction  aside; — disconnecting  it  from  all  ordi^ 
nary  exhibitions  of  human  nature,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
traordinariness  of  the  effects,  when  we  ought  to  unite  it 
with  them,  on  account  of  the  commonness  of  the  cause; 
and  thus,  though  there  are  unquestionably  thousands 
erven  in  the  Christian  church,  and  in  fair  standing,  who 
are  habitually  governed  by  the  principles  of  Judas  Iscar- 
iot,  there  is  not  one  in  the  Christian  world,  so  degraded 
and  so  abandoned,  that  he  would  not  resent  being  called 
by  his  name. 

This  is  owing  to  wrong  ideas  of  the  nature  of  guilt, 
as  it  is  recognised  by  God's  law;  and  we  shall  here 
devote  a  few  paragraphs  to  this  subject,  both  because  it 
is  of  general  importance  to  the  young  Christian  to  have 
clear  ideas  respecting  it,  and  because  a  right  under- 
standing of  it  is  absolutely  essential  to  enable  us  to 
receive  the  proper  moral  lessons  taught  us  by  the  nar- 
rative of  the  crucifixion  of  the  Savior. 

Guilt  then,  as  it  generally  exhibits  itself  in  this  world, 
exists  in  three  stages,  proceeding  regularly  from  the  first 
to  its  consummation  in  the  last.  These  stages  are  more 
or  less  distinctly  marked  in  all  the  various  cases  which 
occur.  We  may  however  take  as  a  convenient  instance 
for  illustration,  the  sin  of  Joseph's  brethren  in  selling 
him  as  a  slave.     Let  us  look  a  few  moments  at  this  case. 

The  first  stage  of  their  guilt  consists  in  the  indulgence 
of  envious  and  malignant  feelings.  They  were  the  feel- 
ings which  ultimately  led  to  the  commission  of  the  crime. 
It  is  said  "  they  hated  him,  and  could  not  speak  peace- 
ably unto  him,"  and  when  he  innocently  told  them  his 
dream,  they  said,  "  '  shalt  thou  indeed  reign  over  us?'  and 
they  hated  him  yet  the  more  for  his  words."  Here  now 
is  guilt,  but  ii  is  the  guilt  of  feeling,  not  of  conduct.  Here 
are  no  overt  acts  of  violence  or  of  unkindness, — not  even 
any  plans  or  determinations  to  commit  such  acts.  It  is 
19* 


222  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  8^. 

First  stage;  guilty  feeling.  Second  stage;   guilty  inteotions. 

the  heart  alone  which  has  gone  astray.  They  are  filled 
with  feelings  of  envy  and  hatred  towards  their  brother, 
and  though,  as  is  very  often  the  case  at  the  present 
day,  when  a  heart  is  filled  with  hateful  passions,  the 
Drow  might  have  been  smooth,  and  the  conduct  right, 
and  even  though  the  tone  of  voice  had  been  gentle  and 
kind,  and  not  a  glance  of  the  eye  had  betrayed  the  hid- 
den anger, —  still,  on  the  principles  of  God's  law,  they 
had  committed  great  sin.  It  was  not  the  sin  of  action, 
nor  of  intention;  but  olt/ie  heart. 

The  second  stage  of  their  guilt  consists  in  their  plans 
and  determinations.  They  began  to  form  the  design  to  do 
some  violence  to  their  brother.  This  stage,  which  it  will 
be  readily  perceived,  is  distinct  from  the  other,  and  de- 
cidedly in  advance  of  it,  is  described  in  the  following 
words. 

"  When  they  saw  him  coming  they  conspired  against 
him  to  slay  him.  They  said  one  to  another,  Behold  this 
dreamer  cometh.  Come  now  therefore,  and  let  us  slay 
him,  and  cast  him  into  some  pit,  and  we  will  say  some 
evil  beast  hath  devoured  him,  and  we  shall  see  what  will 
become  of  his  dreams!  " 

This  is  plainly  a  distinct  stage  from  the  other,  and  in 
advance  of  it.  A  man  may  cherish  revengeful  and  malig- 
nant thoughts,  and  yet  never  intend  to  carry  them  for- 
ward into  action.  There  are  a  thousand  considerations  of 
policy  which  tend  to  restrain  him.  There  is  the  voice  of 
public  opinion,  the  fear  of  punishment,  the  dread  of  re- 
morse ;  and  while  he  hates  his  brother,  and  cordially  wishes 
him  injury,  his  hand  may  be  held  back  by  the  thousand 
circumstances  of  restraint,  with  which  a  kind  Providence 
has  hemmed  him  in.  By  and  by,  however,  the  rising, 
swelUng  flood  of  wicked  emotion  breaks  its  barriers.  He 
prepares  himself  for  the  execution  of  deeds  of  iniquity. 
His  mind  passes  from  the  mere  indulgence  of  the  wicked 
feeling  itself,  to  the  altogether  different  state,  of  deliber- 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  223 

Third  stage;   guilty  action.  Illustrations.  Sudden  acts, 

ately  intending  to  commit  some  open  acts  of  sin.  He 
has  thus  advanced  one  distinct  step  towards  the  consume, 
mation  of  guilt. 

Again,  the  third  and  last  stage  of  this  disease  is  ike 
open  act.  It  consummates  the  guilt,  and  seals  the  con- 
sequences. In  this  case,  they  took  their  brother,  and 
let  him  down  into  a  deep  pit  in  the  wilderness,  intending 
to  leave  him  in  its  dismal  solitude,  to  die  of  hunger  and 
despair.  Avarice,  however,  pleaded  for  his  life,  and,  as 
by  selling  him,  they  could  get  twenty  pieces  of  silver, 
they  changed  his  destiny  from  death  to  slavery.  They 
sold  him  to  a  wandering  tribe  of  half  savage  strangers, 
and  quietly  saw  him  led  away,  they  scarcely  knew 
where,  or  for  what;  though  they  could  have  expected 
nothing  for  the  brother  whom  they  had  thus  betrayed, 
but  a  life  of  suffering  and  toil  and  chains. 

Such  are  the  three  distinct  stages  of  progress  in  guilt. 
And  let  it  be  understood  that  the  distinction  between  these 
stages  is  not,  by  any  means,  peculiar  to  this  case,  nor 
even  more  striking  here,  than  it  usually  is  in  fact.  They 
all  happen  to  be  distinctly  noticed  and  described  by  the 
sacred  writer,  which  makes  this  example  peculiarly  suit- 
ed to  our  purpose.  But  in  all  cases,  when  open  sin  is 
perpetrated  at  all,  it  advances  step  by  step  in  this  way. 
First  come  the  guilty  feelings, —  burning  in  the  heart, 
and  though  restrained  for  a  time,  they  soon  acquire 
strength  which  external  influence  can  no  longer  control. 
Then  comes  the  guilty  intention,  when  the  mind  decides 
against  conscience  and  duty,  and  prepares  itself  to  go 
forth  to  sin;  and  finally,  the  ojjen  act  of  iniquity  closes  the 
scene.  It  is  true,  that  in  many  cases,  these  stages  suc- 
ceed each  other  with  almost  instantaneous  rapidity.  A 
man  receives  a  sudden  and  deep  injury  from  his  enemy; 
— he  grasps  a  glittering  dagger,  and  plunges  it  to  his 
heart.  All  is  over  in  a  moment,  but  the  sin,  though  in- 
stantaneous, is  comphcated,  and  a  very  slight  degree  of 


224  THE    CORNEK-STONE.  [Cll.  8. 

God's  view  of  guilt.  DifTerence  between  divine  and  human  lawi. 

care  in  making  the  analysis,  will  enable  any  one  to  dis- 
tinguish between  the  fcelinp^s,  and  the  i7iie7ition,  and  the 
action,  which  it  clearly  comj)rises. 

Now  it  is  the  first  of  these  stages,  which  the  law  of 
God  chiefly  regards;  for  it  is  plain  that  it  is  this  alone 
which  is  the  true  index  of  character.  The  rest  depends, 
in  far  too  great  a  degree,  on  accidental  circumstan- 
ces, to  be  taken  much  into  the  account  in  estimating 
guilt.  Whether  Joseph's  brethren,  for  example,  would 
ever  form  any  plan  for  doing  him  injury,  must  evidently 
have  depended  upon  the  occurrence  of  favorable  op- 
portunities of  carrying  such  a  plan  into  effect.  In  a 
Christian  country,  the  circumstances  of  society  would 
render  such  an  act  of  iniquity  as  this,  impracticable^, 
and  public  opinion  is  in  such  a  state,  as  to  operate 
as  a  most  powerful,  and  in  most  cases,  an  effectual  re- 
straint, against  any  such  deeds  of  violence.  And  yet 
there  are  thousands  of  cases,  where  the  feelings  between 
brother  and  brother  are  precisely  similar  to  those  which, 
in  this  case,  led  to  the  commission  of  an  atrocious 
crime.  , 

Now  it  is  the  almost  universal  practice  in  this  world, 
to  attach  far  too  much  relative  importance  to  the  overt 
acts  of  sin,  and  too  little,  to  the  state  of  heart  from  which 
those  acts  proceed.  The  cause  of  this  is  two-fold. 
First,  men  have  very  inadequate  conceptions  of  the 
spirituality  of  God's  law,  in  any  respect;  and  secondly, 
human  laws  necessarily  relate  almost  exclusively  to  ex- 
ternal acts,  and  public  sentiment  feels  the  influence,  and 
imbibes  the  spirit  of  public  laws.  Human  laws,  as  we 
have  already  intimated  in  another  place,  and  for  an- 
other purpose,  have  an  object  entirely  different  from  that 
of  divine. 

Their  aim  is,  not  to  distribute  to  every  man  the  just 
recompense  which  he  deserves,  nor  to  purify  hearts,  and 
bring  back  sinners  to  holiness  and  peace.     These  things 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  225 

Consequences  no  criterion  of  guilt.  The  murderer. 

arc  not  the  ultimate  design  of  human  laws.  Their  object 
is  simply  to  protect  the  communitij,  from  the  aggressions  of 
evil  men.  Now  a  wicked  feeling  does,  comparatively, 
no  immediate  injury  to  society,  and  as  protection  is  the 
aim  of  law  and  government  among  men,  they  yield  the 
ground  of  malicious  and  envious  feelings,  and  even 
intentions;  and  taking  a  stand  upon  the  nearest  limit 
of  the  open  act,  they  say  to  human  passions,  "  Hither 
shalt  thou  come,  but  no  farther."  It  is  here  alone,  that 
human  law  arms  itself  with  its  penalties,  and  this  is  the 
whole  field  of  its  conflict  with  the  wickedness  of  man. 

God's  law  has,  however,  a  very  different  object.  Its 
design  is  not  merely  to  repress  the  outbreaking  of  sin, 
so  as  to  protect  men  from  its  injuries, — but  to  remove  and 
eradicate  for  ever  the  guilty  spirit.  It  seeks  not  to  arrest 
the  consequences,  but  to  destroy  the  cause.  Its  design 
is  to  ascertain  the  true  character,  to  deal  with  every  one 
as  his  true  character  deserves,  and,  if  possible,  to  bring 
the  wandering  and  miserable  sinner  back  to  duty  and  to 
happiness.  Human  laws  say  therefore,  to  man,  "  Take 
care  that  you  never  carry  your  sins  so  far  as  to  encroach 
upon  your  neighbor's  rights, —  we  must  secure  protec- 
tion." God's  law  says  to  him,  "  You  must  not  sin  at  all." 
The  one  denounces  punishments  in  proportion  to  the 
injury  which  is  done, —  the  other  regulates  its  penalties 
by  the  exact  measure  of  the  secret  guilt  incurred.  A 
human  government  grasps  a  man  who  has  plunged  his 
knife  into  his  neighbor's  bosom;  but  when  a  skilful  phy- 
sician tries  his  power, — -stops  the  flowing  blood,  allays 
the  rising  fever,  and  saves  the  endangered  life,  it  imme- 
diately relaxes  its  grasp,  and  says  in  spirit,  "  Go  free 
from  the  charge  of  murder;  the  physician  who  stopped 
the  injury,  has  saved  your  life.  We  look  only  at  conse- 
quences." But  the  divine  government  will  arrest  the 
criminal  as  he  endeavors  to  move  away,  and  say  to  him, 
*'  Stop,  you  are  a  murderer.     God  looks  not  at  the  con- 


226  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

The  feelings  of  Uie  heart  and  external  conduct. 

sequences,  but  at  the  guilt.  Whoso  hateth  his  brother 
is  a  murderer." 

For  these,  and  perliaps  other  reasons,  human  laws, 
and  consequently  to  a  great  extent,  public  sentiment,  has 
condemned,  almost  exclusively,  in  this  world,  the  open 
acts  of  wickedness;  and  thus  men,  if  their  conduct  is 
fair,  are  and  always  have  been  prone  to  consider  it  aa 
of  very  little  consequence,  what  corrupt  desires,  or 
raging  passions  possess  their  hearts.  If  the  fires  do  not 
flash  out  to  view,  they  care  little  how  luridly  they  bum 
within.  But  God  sees  not  as  man  sees.  He  regards 
the  heart  as  the  true  seat  of  virtue  and  of  vice,  and  the 
external  conduct,  which  we  notice  so  attentively,  he 
almost  passes  by;  his  eye  looks  through  all  these  ex- 
terior coverings,  and,  penetrating  to  the  inmost  soul,  he 
comes  to  a  contest  with  iniquity  in  the  very  heart  and 
centre  of  its  reign. 

How  obvious  and  unquestionable  is  the  principle  that 
the  external  conduct  is  regulated  quite  as  much  by  the 
circumstances  in  which  one  is  placed,  as  by  the  true 
character;  and  that  therefore  external  conduct  is  no  safe 
criterion  of  character.  A  thousand  illustrations  of  this 
principle  might  be  drawn  from  the  most  common  occur- 
rences of  life.  A  lady  of  elegance  and  refinement,  mov- 
ing in  high  rank  in  society,  surrounded  by  circumstances 
which  most  efl^ectually  forbid  the  open  exhibition  of  the 
evil  passions  of  the  heart,  by  any  of  the  rough  forms  in 
which  they  often  show  themselves,  cherishes,  we  will 
suppose,  envy  or  jealousy,  which  soon  ripens  into  anger 
towards  an  acquaintance;  and  in  peculiar  circumstan^ 
ces,  it  is  possible  that  she  may  be  almost  continually 
under  the  influence  of  these  feelings,  so  that  she  lies 
down  at  night,  and  rises  in  the  morning,  with  these  bad 
passions  rankling  in  her  bosom.  But  in  the  presence  of 
the  object  of  her  displeasure,  and  surrounded  by  society, 
how  possible  is  it  for  all  external  indication  of  her  feel- 


Ch.    8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  227 

The  lady.  The  rude  boy.  Application  of  these  principles. 

ings  to  be  restrained.  Her  brow  is  smooth,  her  eye  is 
mild, —  her  tone  is  gentle; — and  so  completely  have 
the  circumstances  in  which  Providence  has  placed  her, 
trained  her  to  the  necessity  and  to  the  habit  of  civility, 
that  she  dares  not  transgress.  A  rude  and  savage  boy, 
with  the  same  passions,  and  precisely  the  same  state  of 
heart,  not  being  controlled  by  these  circumstances  of 
restraint,  displays  his  passions  by  open  malediction,  or 
by  clubs  and  stones.  Now  how  different  are  the  views 
which  the  world  takes  of  such  cases  as  these.  And  I 
am  far  from  saying  that  they  must  necessarily  be  equal 
in  guilt.  The  passions  which  are  the  same  in  kind,  in 
both,  may  differ  in  degree.  What  I  wish  to  say,  is,  that 
God  looks  at  the  passions  of  the  heart,  and  not  at  the 
open  exhibitions  of  them,  which  the  circumstances  of 
the  individual  may  lead  him  to  make.  This  is  what  is 
meant  by  the  passage,  "  Whoso  hateth  his  brother  is  a 
murderer."  So  with  all  other  sins.  A  man's  character 
for  honesty  does  not,  in  the  eye  of  God,  depend  upon  his 
not  stealing,  but  upon  his  being,  in  heart,  cordially  will- 
ing and  desirous  that  all  around  him  should  enjoy  fully 
their  rights;  his  character  for  benevolence,  not  upon  his 
deeds  of  charity,  but  upon  his  heartfelt  desires  that  all 
connected  with  him  should  be  happy; — his  character  for 
truth,  not  upon  his  refraining  from  directly  falsifying  his 
word, —  but  upon  his  being  sincere  and  honest  in  heart. 
Mankind  do  not  consider  these  distinctions.  A  very 
large  part  of  the  virtue  of  this  world  is  the  virtue  of  cir- 
cumstances, not  of  character;  that  is,  it  is  no  virtue  at 
all;  and  yet  it  is  esteemed  and  applauded  by  men,  as  if 
it  originated  in  the  loftiest  moral  principle. 

But  the  reader  may  perhaps  inquire  what  these  re- 
marks have  to  do  with  the  crucifixion  of  the  Savior. 
They  have  this  to  do  with  it.  The  principles  we  have 
been  considering  show  us  that  though  the  crucifixion, 
as  an  event, — a  transaction,  may  have  been  extraordinary 


228  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

The  characters  of  the  crucifiers.  Their  churactera  commoA. 

and  dreadful  in  the  extreme,  it  does  not  thence  follow 
that  as  sin  it  was  very  extraordinary.  Certain  sinful  pro- 
pensities and  passions  in  that  case  led  to  consequences, 
which  cannot  in  ordinary  cases  flow  from  them.  But 
precisely  the  same  principles  and  passions  may  reign  in 
the  heart,  and  load  it  with  an  equal  burden  of  guilt,  though 
the  circumstances  in  which  the  actor  is  placed,  may  be 
such  as  entirely  to  modify,  or  even  effectually  to  restrain 
the  results.  If  we  wish  then  to  derive  the  intended  ad- 
vantage from  this  portion  of  Scripture  history,  we  must 
consider  these  things, —  we  must  make  these  discrimi- 
nations, between  the  sin  itself,  and  the  particular  forms 
in  which,  from  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  it 
then  assumed.  We  must  look  at  the  characters  of  the 
actors,  rather  than  their  deeds;  for  in  character,  we  may 
be  similar  to  them,  though  from  the  entirely  different 
circumstances  in  which  we  are  placed,  we  have  not, 
and  we  never  can  have  the  opportunity  to  commit  the 
crimes  they  perpetrated.  I  shall  endeavor,  therefore, 
as  I  go  on  to  the  examination  of  the  story,  to  bring  to 
view,  as  clearly  as  possible,  the  characters  of  those  con- 
cerned in  it:  with  particular  reference,  too,  to  the  aspects 
which  similar  characters  would  assume  at  the  present 
day.  If  I  am  not  very  greatly  deceived,  Pontius  Pilate 
and  Judas  Iscariot,  and  even  the  Roman  soldiers,  have 
far  more  imitators  and  followers,  than  is  generally  sup- 
posed, and  that  too,  within  the  very  pale  of  the  Chris- 
tian church. 

We  left  the  Savior,  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter, 
going  out,  late  at  night,  with  his  disciples,  from  the  place 
where  they  had  held  their  last  assembly.  They  passed 
out  of  the  gate,  and  went  down  the  hill,  across  the  rivu- 
let which  flowed  through  the  valley,  and  ascended  the 
mount  of  Olives  on  the  other  side.  One  however  was 
absent. 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  229 

Judas  Iscariot.  His  probable  character  and  plans. 

Judas  Iscariot,  it  will  be  recollected,  had  left  the  as- 
sembly some  time  before.  He  had  his  arrangements  to 
mature  for  delivering  the  Savior  to  the  soldiers  appoint- 
ed to  make  him  prisoner.  It  seems  that  the  leading 
priests  had  been  desirous  of  taking  him,  for  the  purpose 
of  bringing  him  to  trial,  but  they  did  not  dare  to  do  it 
openly,  for  fear  of  an  uproar  among  the  people;  their 
only  other  plan,  therefore,  was  to  find  out  his  private  re- 
treats, and  send  an  armed  band  for  him  at  some  time 
when  he  was  alone  with  his  friends.  This  plan  it  was 
difficult  to  execute,  for  Jesus  generally  withdrew  himself 
very  privately,  when  his  work  was  done,  and  they  did 
not  know  how  to  find  him.  Judas  reheved  them  of  the 
difficulty. 

But  who  was  Judas?  let  us  look  a  little  at  his  history 
and  character. 

There  seems  to  be  no  evidence  against  the  supposi- 
tion that  he  was  just  such  a  man  as  any  other  of  those 
worldly  professors  of  religion,  which  are  to  be  found  by 
thousands  in  the  Christian  church  at  the  present  day. 
It  is  plain  that  he  was  not  that  abandoned  and  hardened 
reprobate  which  he  is  very  generally  supposed  to  have 
been:  if  so,  he  would  not  have  hung  himself,  when  he 
found  what  were  the  consequences  of  his  crime.  It  does 
not  seem  to  be  at  all  improbable,  that,  when  he  joined 
the  Savior's  cause,  he  thought  he  was  sincere.  A  man 
would  not  be  likely  to  connect  himself  with  such  a 
cause  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  money.  This 
is  possible,  but  certainly  very  improbable.  It  seems  far 
more  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  he  became  a  professed 
disciple,  as  thousands  do  at  the  present  day,  with  his 
heart  unchanged,  though  not  aware  of  his  own  true 
character. 

They  who  have  a  strong  love  for  the  world,  have  often 
no  uncommon  share  of  worldly  wisdom;  or,  at  least,  those 
who  love  money  know  well  how  to  take  care  of  it ;  and 
20 


230  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8» 

Trust  conferred  ujKin  liira.  His  present  followers.  The  church. 

Judas,  like  many  others  since  liis  day,  was  appointed  to 
a  trust  which  proved  a  very  dangerous  one  to  him.  In 
fact,  tlie  very  love  for  such  a  trust  which  fitted  him  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  it  succesfully,  made  those  duties 
very  dangerous  to  him.  It  is  altogether  probahle  that 
love  of  money  acquired  its  ascendency  over  him  very 
gradually.  It  almost  always  docs.  Very  few  persons 
have  the  hardihood  to  unite  themselves  with  the  Christian 
church  deliberately,  with  the  design  of  making  their  con- 
nexion with  it  a  mere  source  of  profit ;  but  very  many 
who  join  it  professedly  with  other  designs,  do,  in  fact, 
gradually  turn  their  connexion  with  it  to  this  purpose. 
They  are  deceived  at  first  about  the  sincerity  of  their 
motives;  they  feel  some  sort  of  interest  in  religion,  which 
interest  they  mistake  for  genuine  piety ;  but  as  it  is  with- 
out foundation  it  soon  disappears,  the  world  gradually 
regains  its  hold,  and  as  it  comes  back  and  fixes  its  reign, 
it  leads  the  man  to  avail  himself  of  every  advantage 
which  he  can  derive  from  his  new  position,  to  increase 
his  own  earthly  stores.  At  first  he  does  this  without 
particular  injury  to  the  cause  he  has  espoused,  but  soon 
the  claims  of  interest  and  of  his  master's  service  come 
into  slight  collision.  The  latter  yields,  though  he  is  so 
blinded  he  is  not  aware  of  it.  The  cases  become  more 
frequent  and  more  decided;  but  the  progress  of  blind- 
ness goes  on  as  fast  as  the  progress  of  sin,  so  that  be 
continues  undisturbed,  though  he  is  as  really  betraying 
the  cause  of  his  master,  as  if  he  was  actually  guiding  an 
armed  band  to  his  private  retreat. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  cases  which  might  be  stated  in 
exemplification  of  this.  We  will  suppose  one  or  two. 
A  question  arises  in  a  certain  town  about  the  erection  of 
a  place  of  public  worship.  The  situation  of  the  building 
will  aflfect  the  value  of  the  property  in  its  vicinity,  and 
a  certain  wealthy  professor  of  religion,  with  reference 
solely  to  this  effect  upon  his  property,  is  determined  that 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  231 

Various  ways  of  betraying  Clirist's  cause.  The  worldly  pastor. 

the  building  shall  be  in  one  place,  while  the  rest  of  the 
church  are  determined  it  shall  be  in  another.  To  make 
the  case  simple,  we  will  suppose  that  the  majority  are 
guided  by  good  principles  in  their  selection,  that  they 
consult  the  best  interests  of  the  Savior's  cause  in  the 
decision  they  have  made,  and  consequently  that  the  fault 
is  all  on  the  side  of  the  single  wealthy  man.  Such  is 
however  his  influence,  that  he  can  throw  embarrassment, 
and  insuperable  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  rest.  He 
divides  the  Savior's  friends,  alienates  one  from  another, 
and  is  thus  the  instrument  of  destroying  the  peace  of  the 
diurch,  and  extinguishing  the  light  of  its  piety.  Years 
do  not  heal  the  wounds  he  makes  in  the  Savior's  cause. 
He  betrays  it,  and  he  betrays  it  for  money, — just  as 
truly  as  if  he  had  been  directly  bribed  by  thirty  pieces 
of  silver  to  deliver  up  his  Lord.  In  fact  he  does  even  a 
greater  injury  than  that;  and  it  is  by  no  means  certain, 
which  will  be  found  to  have  incurred  the  heaviest  doom, 
he  who  sold  the  Savior's  life  to  Roman  soldiers,  or  he 
who,  from  the  same  motive,  turns  traitor  to  the  church, 
and  breaks  down  the  barriers  for  the  admission  of  spirit- 
ual foes.  The  latter  certainly  betrays  a  more  valued 
object,  and  delivers  it  too,  to  more  dreadful  foes;  for  Jesus 
Christ  has  given  most  abundant  proof  that  he  loves  the 
church  far  more  than  his  own  personal  safety,  and  that 
he  fears  discord  and  hatred  and  spiritual  death,  far  more 
than  the  insults  and  injuries  of  Roman  soldiers,  or  even 
than  the  unutterable  sufferings  of  hour  afler  hour  upon 
the  cross. 

But  let  us  take  another  case.  It  is  that  of  a  worldly 
pastor,  who  consents  to  receive  in  charge  a  branch  of 
his  master's  church,  when  his  motive  is  his  pay.  He 
neglects  his  appropriate  work,  and  devotes  his  time  and 
his  attention,  and  gives  all  his  heart  to  the  work  of  in- 
creasing his  stores.  He  does  it  privately  and  silently, 
but  the  world  around  him  soon  understand  it.     They  are 


i232  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

The  merchant.  The  probable  intentions  of  Judas. 

quick  to  perceive  hypocrisy,  and  to  detect  the  true  char- 
acter of  worldhncss,  however  dexterously  it  may  clothe 
itself  in  the  garb  of  piety.  The  money-getting  disciple 
thinks,  perhaps,  that  all  is  going  on  well.  He  performs 
his  duties  with  punctilious  formality,  but  his  heart  is  not 
in  the  work,  and  the  souls  within  his  influence  are  only 
chilled  by  the  coldness  of  the  form.  In  a  word,  the 
cause  committed  to  him  is  betrayed, —  it  is  betrayed,  too, 
for  money;  and  if  it  is  true  that  in  the  sight  of  God,  the 
heart,  and  not  the  particular  acts  by  which  the  heart  may 
manifest  itself,  is  the  criterion  of  character,  he  must 
expect  to  stand  with  Judas  when  the  time  of  reckoning 
shall  come. 

How  many  times  has  a  man  of  business,  professing  to 
love  the  Savior,  betrayed  his  cause  by  violating  his  prin- 
ciples, and  brought  open  disgrace  upon  it,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world.  He  deals  in  commodities  which  are  de- 
structive to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  men,  or  he  acts  on 
principles  which  are  entirely  inconsistent  with  christian 
character.  Unjust,  oj)pressive,  and  miserly,  he  dis- 
graces the  name  which  he  has  hypocritically  assumed. 
But  he  accomplishes  his  object; — he  acquires  the  money 
for  which  he  is  willing  to  sell  his  master's  cause.  Even 
Judas  was  paid.  He  secures  also  his  other  object,  of 
being  called  a  Christian.  He  however  betrays  the 
cause. ^  For  the  mass  of  mankind  bring  down  their  con- 
ceptions of  religion  to  the  rank  of  the  lowest  pretender 
to  it  whom  they  can  find;  so  that  he  who  serves  the 
world  and  sin,  while  he  pretends  to  be  a  Christian,  does 
not  generally  disgrace  himself,  he  degrades  Christianity. 
Still  he  accomplishes  his  objects.  He  is  called  a  Chris- 
tian, and  makes  his  money;  but  he  must  rank  among  the 
traitors  at  last. 

Judas  had  no  idea,  probably,  that  any  very  serious 
consequences  would  have  resulted  from  what  he  was 
about  to  do.     He  might  have  known,  indeed,  had  he 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  233 

Judas' excuses.  The  midnight  scene.  Jerusalem.  The  valley.  The  garden. 

thought  about  it,  but  he  probably  thought  of  little  but 
his  thirty  pieces  of  silver.  If  he  did  reflect  at  all,  it 
was  probably  only  to  quiet  himself  with  the  excuses, 
which,  in  similar  circumstances,  men  always  make;  such 
as  that  it  was  his  duty  to  increase  his  property  by  all 
honest  means, —  that  there  could  be  no  great  harm  in 
merely  introducing  the  soldiers  to  the  Savior, —  that  if 
he  did  not  give  them  the  information  they  desired,  some- 
body else  certainly  would.  All  the  ordinary  excuses 
would  have  applied  perfectly  here. 

However  this  might  be,  the  wretched  man  went  at 
midnight  to  the  place  of  rendezvous;  and  while  he  aad 
the  soldiers  who  were  to  accompany  him,  were  receiving 
their  directions  and  forming  their  plans  in  the  city,  the 
Savior  was  bending  under  the  burden  of  those  intolerable 
but  mysterious  sufferings,  which  have  thrown  an  eternal 
gloom  over  the  garden  of  Gethsemane.  Upon  what  a 
scene  the  moon,  which  was  always  full  at  the  time  of 
the  Jewish  passover,  must  have  looked  down,  at  this  sad 
hour. 

It  is  midnight;  the  moon  is  high,  and  the  streets  of 
Jerusalem  are  deserted  and  still,  except  when  the  foot- 
steps of  some  solitary  passenger  re-echo  a  moment  upon 
the  ear,  and  then  die  away.  Beyond  the  walls,  even 
deeper  silence  and  solitude  reign;  every  bird  is  at  its 
rest,  and  in  the  still  night  air,  we  can  hear  the  brook 
murmuring  through  the  valley.  In  the  garden  on  the 
other  side  too,  the  consecrated  place  of  prayer,  every 
zephyr  is  hushed,  every  leaf  is  in  repose,  and  the  moon 
is  silvering,  with  its  cold  light,  the  outlines  of  the  foHage, 
and  brightening  on  the  distant  hills. 

It  was  midnight,  the  hour  of  stillness  and  rest,  but  yet 

the  whole  scene  was  not  one  of  repose.     The  scattered 

disciples   of  Jesus   waited  for   their   Master,  who  was 

bending  down   in  his  lonely  retreat,  under  the  weight 

20* 


234  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

The  coining  forth  of  the  soldiers.  Apparent  discrepancy. 

oi*  suffering  which  we  can  neither  appreciate  nor  coii>- 
prehcnd.  And  in  some  lurking  place  in  the  silent  city, 
the  rough  soldiers  were  lighting  their  lanterns,  and  girding 
on  their  weapons,  and  forming  their  plans.  Presently 
they  issue  forth,  and  pass  on  from  street  to  street,  now 
in  light  and  now  in  shadow,  stealing  along  probably  in 
careful  silence,  lest  they  might  arouse  some  of  the  people 
and  provoke  the  interference  which  their  masters  dread- 
ed. At  this  moment,  what  a  spectacle  must  the  whole 
scene  have  presented  to  any  one  who  could  have  looked 
down  upon  the  whole.  The  dark  betrayer,  walking  in 
advance  of  his  band  with  cautious  steps,  half  fearing, 
and  half  rejoicing  in  his  anticipated  success; — the  care- 
less soldiers  following,  to  execute  a  work  which  they 
probably  did  not  distinguish  from  any  other  similar  deed 
which  they  often  performed; — the  disciples,  scattered 
through  the  valley,  and  in  the  garden,  some  probably 
anxious  and  unhappy,  and  others,  overcome  with  bodily 
and  mental  exhaustion,  sunk  in  sleep; — Jesus  Christ, 
struggling  in  solitude,  under  the  pressure  of  sufferings 
which  overwhelmed  him  with  indescribable  agitation,  ar.d 
almost  unnerved  his  soul.  There  must  have  been  some- 
thing uncommon  in  an  anguish,  which  could  carry  the 
Savior's  fortitude  to  its  utmost  limit.  On  the  cross  he 
was  calm. 

But  we  must  go  on  with  the  story.  One  of  the  most 
striking  proofs  of  the  genuineness  and  truth  of  the  nar- 
ratives of  this  transaction  which  are  recorded  in  the 
New  Testament,  is  the  apparent  discrepancy  between 
the  two  accounts  of  the  scene  which  occurred,  when 
Judas  and  his  band  arrived  at  the  place  to  which  Jesus 
had  retired.  That  this  discrepancy  may  be  the  better 
understood,  we  place  the  two  accounts  in  opposite  col- 
umns. 


Ch.  8.1 


THE    CRUCIPIERS. 


235 


The  two  accounts. 


Fearlessness  of  truth. 


Explanation. 


Matt.  26 :  47—50. 

And  while  he  yet  spake,  lo 
Judas,  one  of  the  twelve,  came, 
and  with  him  a  great  multitude 
with  swords  and  staves,  from  the 
chief  priests  and  elders  of  the 
people. 

Now  he  that  betrayed  him  gave 
them  a  sign,  saying,  Whomso- 
ever I  shall  kiss,  that  same  is  he ; 
hold  him  fast.  And  forthwith 
he  came  to  Jesus  and  said,  Hail 
Master ,  and  kissed  him. 

And  Jesus  said  unto  him, 
Friend,  wherefore  art  thou  come  ? 
Then  came  they  and  laid  hands 
on  Jesus  and  took  him. 


John  18  :  3—8. 

Judas  then,  having  received  a 
band  of  men  and  officers  from 
the  chief  priests  and  Pharisees, 
cometh  thither  with  lanterns,  and 
torches  and  weapons. 

Jesus  therefore,  knowing  all 
things  that  should  come  upon 
him,  went  forth,  and  said  unto 
them,  Whom  seek  ye  ? 

They  answered  him,  Jesus  of 
Nazareth.  Jesus  saith  unto  tLera, 
I  am  he.  And  Judas  also,  which 
betrayed  him,  stood  with  them. 

As  soon  then  as  he  had  said 
unto  them,  I  am  he,  they  went 
backward,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

Then  asked  he  them  again, 
Whom  seek  ye  ?  And  they  said, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

Jesus  answered,  I  have  told 
you  that  I  am  he.  If  therefore  ye 
seek  me,  let  these  go  their  way. 


Fabricators  of  a  story  would  never  have  left  such  a 
discrepancy  as  this;  and  yet  it  is  precisely  such  an  one, 
as  two  original  witnesses  would  have  been  almost  certain 
to  have  fallen  into,  in  narrating  the  circumstances  of 
such  a  case.  Scenes  of  calm  and  quiet  action,  where  but 
few  individuals  are  concerned,  and  incidents  succeed  each 
other  with  quiet  regularity,  may  be  described  perhaps 
in  nearly  the  same  language  by  different  and  indepen- 
dent observers; — but  in  a  scene  of  tumult  and  confusion, 
where  many  are  acting  and  talking  together,  each  in  a 
great  degree  regardless  of  the  rest,  faithful  witnesses 
who  describe  what  they  actually  see,  will  tell  very  differ- 
ent stories.  A  large  number  of  the  discrepancies  of  the 
Bible  are  of  this  character,  and  they  are  the  most  strik- 
ing proofs  of  the  fearless  honesty  of  the  witnesses  who 
recorded  the  facts. 


236  THE    COUNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

The  encounter.  Resistance.  Binding  tiie  prisoner. 

Judas  came  with  a  preconcerted  part  to  perform.  He 
had  arranged  every  thing  beforehand,  and  probably  he 
had,  as  it  were,  every  look  and  action  committed  to 
memory.  He  had  braced  himself  up  to  his  work,  and 
had  fixed  its  details  with  so  much  minuteness,  that  he 
could  perform  his  part  almost  mechanically,  as  soon  as 
the  proper  moment  should  arrive.  This  is  human  na- 
ture as  it  shows  itself  on  all  such  occasions.  It  learns 
its  task,  when  it  has  one  of  an  agitating  nature  to  per- 
form, or  is  to  act  in  any  extraordinary  emergency;  and 
then  it  comes  up  to  the  moment  of  action,  with  a  sort 
of  mental  momentum  which  carries  it  through,  right 
or  wrong,  and  leaves  it  very  little  power  to  modi^  its 
course,  or  to  adapt  it  to  any  new  or  unexpected  circum- 
stances. Judas  came  with  his  plan  thus  formed;  Jesus 
had  also  his  own  course  marked  out,  and  the  almost 
mechanical  determination  of  the  one,  came  into  collision 
with  the  fearless  and  lofty  energy  of  the  other.  The 
soldiers  fell  back;  perhaps  they  did  not  know  till  they 
saw  him,  who  it  was  whom  they  were  sent  to  bring;  and 
in  the  confusion  of  the  encounter,  each  witness  has  re- 
corded what  struck  most  forcibly  his  own  observation. 

There  was  a  slight  resistance,  but  Jesus  stopped  it, 
and  surrendered  himself  a  prisoner.  The  soldiers  re- 
gained their  courage,  after  the  momentary  alarm  excited 
by  the  Savior's  sudden  appearance,  and  began  to  secure 
their  victim.  There  was  enough  in  their  rough  ferocity 
to  terrify  the  disciples,  and  they  fled.  The  soldiers 
made  perhaps  some  effort  to  secure  them  too.  They 
certainly  endeavored  a  short  time  after,  to  seize  a  young 
man,  on  their  way,  who  came  out  in  his  night  dress  to 
ascertain  the  cause  of  the  commotion  which  he  heard. 
At  any  rate  the  disciples  fled,  and  the  soldiers  had  no- 
thing to  do  but  to  secure  their  prisoner. 

They  bound  him; — and  binding,  under  such  circum- 
stances, is  a  very  different  thing  from  what  most  of  our 


Ch.  8.]                               THE    CRUCIFIERS. 

237 

lesus  before  the  Priests.                 Their  two  charges. 

Blasphemy. 

readers  would  suppose.  The  cords  are  not  drawn  lightly 
around  the  wrists  of  a  military  prisoner.  They  secured 
him,  and  returned  towards  the  city.  The  priests  were 
too  deeply  interested  in  the  triumphs  they  were  about  to 
enjoy,  to  wait  quietly  for  the  regular  time  of  trial.  Some 
of  them  even  came  out  with  the  soldiers  toward  the  place 
where  Jesus  was  taken,  and  others  assembled  in  the  pal- 
ace of  the  High  Priest,  and  Jesus  was  taken  directly 
into  the  midst  of  them.  Here  they  spent  some  time  in 
collecting  their  testimony,  and  framing  their  charges, 
and  urging  on  each  other  to  a  higher  pitch  of  excite- 
ment, and  to  more  determined  and  inveterate  hostility. 

There  might  possibly  be  a  case  in  which  men  might 
be  deceived  in  regard  to  the  character  of  a  good  man,  and 
might  press  him  very  severely  with  the  effects  of  their 
displeasure,  from  honest,  though  mistaken  convictions 
of  his  guilt.  That  this,  however,  was  not  the  case  here, 
is  very  certain  from  the  nature  of  the  charges  brought 
against  the  Savior  at  the  different  tribunals  where  he 
was  successively  brought  to  trial.  These  charges  were 
varied  to  suit  circumstances,  and  therefore  could  not  have 
been  honest.  In  this  case,  he  was  before  the  Jewish 
priests,  and  the  accusation  brought  against  him  was, 
irreverence  in  speaking  of  what  their  religion  taught 
them  to  hold  sacred; — they  called  it  blasphemy.  This 
charge  they  attempted  to  prove  from  some  expressions, 
perfectly  innocent  in  the  sense  in  which  he  had  used 
them,  and  almost  perfectly  so,  even  with  the  meaning 
which  they  pretended  to  attach  to  them.  They  found  it 
difficult  to  establish  their  charges  by  any  witnesses  they 
could  procure,  but  they  were  soon  satisfied  in  another 
way.  When  he  began  to  talk  about  himself,  he  uttered 
what  they  called  blasphemy,  enough  to  convince  them 
fully;  and  the  High  Priest  rent  his  clothes  with  afTected 
horror.  They  spent  some  time  in  gratifying  their  re- 
sentment and  hatred,  by  insulting  and  tormenting  their 


238                                        THE    CORNER-STONE. 

[Ch.  a. 

Political  condition  of  the  Jews. 

('iipitui  punihhmeDtk 

victim  in  every  possible  way.  He  had  pretended  to  be 
a  prophet,  and  they  accordingly  blindfolded  him,  and 
then  beat  him,  asking  him  to  prophesy  who  it  was  that 
struck  the  blow.     Jesus  suffered  it  all  in  silence. 

The  conclusion  of  their  deliberation,  if  such  treatment 
of  a  helpless  prisoner  could  be  called  deliberation,  was, 
that  he  ought  to  die.  But  in  the  way  of  his  death  there 
was  a  very  formidable  difficulty,  which  must  be  particu- 
larly described. 

Judea  was,  at  this  time,  a  Roman  province.  It  had 
been  conquered  by  the  armies  of  the  empire  some  years 
before,  and  was  accordingly  now,  under  Roman  goverrv- 
ment.  Now  the  policy  which  the  Romans  seem  to  have 
pursued,  in  maintaining  their  power  over  the  coun- 
tries which  they  subdued,  was  to  leave  the  inhabitants 
as  much  as  possible  to  their  own  customs  and  laws,  ir>- 
terfering  only  in  those  great  and  important  subjects 
which  could  not  safely  be  left  to  the  vanquished  people. 
The  command  of  all  the  forts,  and  of  all  the  soldiers, 
they  of  course  assumed  themselves.  They  took  the 
direction  of  all  the  important  public  measures,  and  they 
reserved,  too,  a  control  over  the  higher  criminal  cases 
which  might  occur  in  the  administration  of  justice.  In- 
ferior punishment,  the  Jews  might  inflict,  themselves, 
but  they  were  not  permitted  to  take  life  in  retribution  for 
crime,  without  the  permission  of  their  conquerors.  Of 
course,  then,  there  was  no  way  by  which  they  could  pro- 
cure the  execution  of  Jesus,  but  by  carrying  him  to  the 
Roman  government,  and  obtaining  the  sentence  of  death 
there. 

But  how  could  they  do  this?  Their  charge  against 
him  was  blasphemy,  and  what  would  a  Roman  officer 
care  about  blasphemy.  The  governor  was  compara- 
tively a  stranger  there,  having  been  in  possession  of 
the  government  only  six  or  eight  years.  He  was  a 
Roman,  not  a  Jew;  he  took  consequently  little  interest 


Ch.  8.]  THE  cRUCiriERs.  239 

The  Roman  governor.         His  hall.  The  Priests  remain  in  the  street, 

in  Jewish  feelings,  and  felt  no  reverence  for  what  the 
Jews  held  sacred.  How  to  get  a  sentence  of  death 
confirmed  by  such  a  man,  against  a  criminal  charged 
with  such  a  crime  as  blasphemy,  was  the  question. 

It  could  not  be  done.  They  knew  it  could  not  be  done; 
for  a  Roman  officer,  as  the  event  in  this  case  showed, 
could  understand  the  claims  of  justice,  when  his  own 
interest  or  ambition  did  not  interfere  with  them.  If  they 
go  to  Pilate  therefore  with  their  persecuted  prisoner, 
they  must  have  some  more  plausible  pretext  than  the 
story  of  the  blasphemy. 

By  this  time,  their  number  had  probably  much  increas- 
ed; and  when  the  hour  arrived,  at  which  they  could 
obtain  admission  at  the  Roman  hall,  they  bound  their 
prisoner  again,  and  led  him  forth  into  the  street.  Attend- 
ed and  followed  by  a  throng  of  his  enemies,  the  Savior 
walked  quietly  on,  until  he  arrived  in  front  of  the  palace 
occupied  by  the  Roman.  They  sent  Jesus  in,  remaining 
outside  in  the  street  themselves, —  lest  they  should  be  de- 
filed!  What  perfectly  good  friends  are  superstition  and 
sin,  and  with  how  little  interference  will  they  share  the 
dominion  of  the  heart.  Here  is  a  savage  crowd,  tyrannis- 
ing over  a  defenceless  and  helpless  man,  in  the  extreme 
of  injustice  and  cruelty;  their  blood  is  boiling  with  angry 
passions,  and  no  obstacles  or  difficulties  are  sufficient  to 
restrain  them  in  their  eagerness  to  secure  the  destruc- 
tion of  their  victim;  —  and  yet,  thus  excited,  thus  in- 
flamed, and  thus  destitute  of  all  moral  principle,  they 
stop  at  once,  when  they  come  to  the  doors  of  a  Roman 
building,  and  will  not  enter  it,  for  fear  that  they  shall  be 
defiled! 

The  Roman  was  a  pagan,  and  his  apartments  were 
forbidden  ground  to  them.  The  strictness  of  their  law 
had  prohibited  even  so  slight  a  connexion  as  this,  with 
idolatry;  especially  when  they  were  about  to  celebrate 
any  of  the   more  solemn  ordinances  of  the  law.     The 


240  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

Another  apparent  discrepancy.  Truili  and  fabrication. 

passover  was  at  hand,  and  they  must  eat  it.  They  could 
insult  and  torture  an  innocent  victim,  but  they  must  not 
omit  to  eat  the  paschal  lamb!  They  could  stand  burning 
with  malice  and  rage  in  a  Jewish  street;  but  to  cross  the 
threshold  of  a  pagan  dwelling, —  would  never  do.  Every 
man  there  probably  prided  himself  on  his  scruples, —  his 
inflexible  precision  in  obeying  the  law;  but  thought 
nothing  of  the  loathsome  and  terrible  corruption  which 
had  full  possession  of  his  heart.  Whited  sepulchres; 
the  Savior  had  called  them:  What  an  exact  comparison! 
They  were  particularly  scrupulous  at  this  time,  on 
account  of  the  approaching  passover,  as  the  narrative 
informs  us;  but  the  same  narrative  states  that  the  pass- 
over  had  been  celebrated  the  evening  before;  for  it  was 
to  keep  this  feast  that  Jesus  and  his  disciples  had  met 
on  the  preceding  evening.  The  apparent  discrepancy  is 
another  of  those  marks  of  genuineness,  which  no  skill 
can  ever  counterfeit.  The  occurrences  of  real  life  con- 
stitute a  most  complicated  web,  where  a  thousand  actors, 
and  a  thousand  events  mingle  and  intertwine  in  the  most 
intricate  confusion.  All  is  however,  in  fact,  consistent, 
though  no  one  eye  can  take  in  the  whole.  Through  this 
congeries,  truth  takes  its  bold  and  unhesitating  way,  con- 
fident that  it  cannot  find  at  any  one  point,  any  thing 
which  is  really  inconsistent  with  what  it  is  to  meet  with 
at  another,'  and  therefore  it  speaks  freely  of  what  it  sees, 
and  boldly  exhibits  every  object  which  may  lie  in  its 
track.  It  runs  of  course  into  apparent  difficulties.  It 
leaves  interruptions  and  chasms,  which  additional  light 
must  correct  and  explain,  and  it  is  only  when  that  ad- 
ditional light  is  fully  furnished  that  we  see,  in  all  its 
perfection,  the  consistency  and  harmony  of  the  whole. 
Fabrication  cannot  take  such  a  course.  She  must  make 
things  consistent  and  plain,  as  she  goes  on;  or  if  she 
leaves  an  apparent  difficulty,  there  must  be  an  explana- 
tion at  hand. 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  241 

Explanatioa.  Judas  and  the  Priests  corapaj-ed. 

The  researches  of  scholars  have  reconciled  this  ap- 
parent disagreement;  in  fact  there  are  several  consid- 
erations, each  of  which  is  sufficient  to  account  for  the 
language  used.  Perhaps  the  most  important  is,  that 
there  was  a  dispute  at  that  time  in  regard  to  the  day  on 
which  the  passover  should  be  kept; —  some,  relying  sim- 
ply on  the  declarations  of  scripture,  celebrated  it  on  one 
evening,  and  the  priests  and  pharisees,  following  certain 
traditions,  preferred  the  next.  It  is  not  necessary  how- 
ever, for  our  purpose,  to  dwell  on  this  subject  here. 

The  character  exhibited  by  these  priests  is  the  second 
great  variety  which  this  whole  transaction  brings  to  view. 
Enmity  to  the  Savior  appears  in  them  in  very  different 
forms  from  that  which  it  assumed  in  Judas.  His  ruling 
passion  was  love  of  money, —  theirs  was  love  of  place 
and  power.  They  were  priests;  all  their  estimation  in 
society,  and  all  the  virtue,  on  which  they  so  confidently 
prided  themselves,  depended  on  the  ceremonies  of  the 
Jewish  law.  Undermine  these,  and  call  public  attention 
from  ceremonial  exactness  to  internal  purity,  and  such 
an  influence  and  such  characters  as  theirs  would  be 
ruined.  Jesus  Christ  had  been  doing  this  most  effectu- 
ally, and  all  their  spiritual  pride,  ambition,  and  every 
worldly  feeling  was  roused. 

There  is  a  great  difference  also  between  the  actual 
appearances  which  were  exhibited  in  the  two  cases. 
Judas  was  calm,  the  priests  were  furious.  Judas  endan- 
gered his  master's  life  by  cool,  calculating  treachery; 
the  priests  were  loud  and  boisterous  and  urgent,  in 
effecting  his  destruction.  The  former  was  the  accessory, 
assisting  others  in  what  he  never  would  have  under- 
taken himself  The  latter  were  the  principals,  originating 
every  plan,  and  pressing  it  forward  with  the  most  open 
and  determined  energy. 

The  reason  for  this  difference  is,  that  the  principles 
21 


34ft  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  8 

The  spirit  of  tlic  PrientB.  Contenliuii  among  denominations 

which  Jesus  Christ  was  pubhshing,  came  at  once  to 
inevitable  and  direct  collision  with  the  ambitious  views 
and  feelings  of  the  priests,  while  they  were  not  thus 
aggressive  in  respect  to  the  avarice  of  Judas.  The 
Sdivior's  principles  did  indeed  as  plainly  forbid  the  avarice, 
but  his  acts  did  not  come  so  directly  in  the  way  of  its 
gratification.  Judas  was  left  to  pursue  uninterrupted  his 
own  plans,  but  the  hollow  hypocrisy  of  ihe  Jews  was  not 
thus  left.  Every  public  address  made  by  the  Savior, 
was  most  directly  undermining  it.  Judas  therefore,  re- 
mained quiet  and  undisturbed,  while  the  priests  were 
goaded  on  to  fury.  The  ruling  passion  was  gently  drawn 
out  of  its  retreat,  in  the  former  case,  allured  by  the  op- 
portunity of  gratifying  itself  by  the  ruin  of  its  victim;  in 
the  latter,  it  was  boldly  assaulted  in  its  den,  and  the  con- 
test was,  of  course,  a  desperate  struggle  for  existence. 

The  spirit  of  the  high  priests  reigns  still  in  the  world, — 
in  many  a  heart  which  puts  the  splendor  of  forms,  or  the 
stability  of  an  ecclesiastical  organization,  in  place  of  the 
progress  of  pure,  heartfelt  piety.  Many  a  pastor  would 
prefer  having  a  man  in  his  congregation,  rather  than  in 
another's  church,  and  will  really  regret  the  progress  of 
religion,  if  he  sees  its  current  flowing  out  of  his  own 
communion.  How  many  times  have  professed  friends 
of  God  stopped  suddenly  the  progress  of  his  cause,  by 
contending  about  a  division  of  the  fruits  of  its  success. 
They  think  they  are  punctilous  for  the  order  and  regu- 
larity of  the  church.  So  did  Caiphas.  They  sacrifice 
the  interests  of  the  soul,  for  the  sake  of  scrupulous  ad- 
herence to  what  they  deem  the  letter  of  the  law.  This 
was  exactly  the  sin  of  the  Priests  and  Pharisees.  The 
law  of  God,  and  attachment  to  his  prescribed  ordinances, 
is  their  pretended  motive,  while  love  of  personal  influence 
or  denominational  ascendency  is  the  real  one.  So  it  was 
with  these  crucifiers  of  the  Savior.  There  may  be  a 
great  diff*erence  in  the  degree  in  which  these  feelings 


Cb.  8. J  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  243 

Peter.  His  appearance  at  the  hall.  Character  of  Peter  and  John. 

are  exhibited,  but  let  those  who  cherish  them,  study  the 
case,  and  see  if  they  can  find  any  difference  in  kind. 
We  can  find  none.  Who  ever  puts  his  rank  and  sta- 
tion, and  the  interests  of  that  division  of  the  church  to 
which  he  belongs,  on  which  perhaps  his  rank  and  station 
depend,  in  competition  with  the  progress  of  real,  heart- 
felt, genuine  piety  in  the  world,  will  find,  if  he  is  honest, 
that  the  spirit  of  the  Jewish  Sanhedrim  is  precisely  his. 

But  now  comes  a  new  character  still,  upon  this  ever 
varying  stage.  At  the  door  of  the  hall  where  this  trial  is 
going  on,  stands  a  man  who  is  watching,  with  eager  in- 
terest, every  thing  which  takes  place.  He  seems  to  be  a 
stranger.  He  tries  to  affect  unconcern,  but  he  plainly  is 
not  one  of  the  common  bystanders  there.  Presently 
some  one  comes  down  to  the  door  and  procures  admis- 
sion for  him,  and  he  takes  his  place  by  the  fire  with  the 
others  who  are  waiting  to  see  the  end.  He  is  accused 
several  times,  by  persons  who  notice  his  appearance,  of 
being  one  of  the  friends  of  the  prisoner,  but  he  is  afraid 
to  admit  it.  An  hour  ago  he  drew  his  sword  in  his  master's 
defence, —  now  he  dares  not  admit  that  he  knows  him. 
Perhaps  he  was  afraid  that  Malchus  \yould  remember, 
against  him,  his  wounded  ear.  He  had  in  fact  more 
reason  to  fear,  than  any  other  disciple;  and,  as  human 
nature  is,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  should  be  overcome 
by  the  greatness  of  the  danger. 

If  this  scene  were  fiction,  one  of  its  highest  beauties 
would  be  the  contrasts  of  character  between  Peter  and 
John.  A  superficial  observer,  drawing  from  imagina- 
tion, would  have  made  Peter,  in  all  respects,  bold  and 
undaunted;  and  in  exhibiting  John  as  mild  and  gentle, 
would  have  made  him  timid  and  yielding.  But  history 
in  this  case,  as  she  is  recording  facts,  is  true  to  nature, 
and  while  she  gives  to  Peter  physical  boldness  and  con- 
stitutional ardor,  she  gives  the  calm,  steady,  lofty  moral 
courage  to  the  gentle  John.     At  midnight,  among  Ian- 


944  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

Peier'a  sin  very  common.  His  temptations  compared  with  curt. 

terns  and  torches  and  weapons  and  an  armed  band, 
Peter  rushes  on  with  his  sword;  but  when  the  hour  of 
physical  excitement  lias  passed,  he  turns  pale  at  the 
question  of  a  maid-servant,  and  denies  his  Lord.  John 
has  no  resi.stanco  to  oflbr  to  a  soldier;  but  amidst  all  his 
masters  dangers,  he  keeps  close  to  his  side,  his  known 
and  Acknowledged  friend;  attending  him  faithfully  on  his 
trial,  and  doing  all  he  can  by  his  presence  and  sympa^ 
thy  to  soothe  his  last  moments  upon  the  cross. 

Reader,  if  you  had  been  in  Peter's  case  should  you 
have  denied  your  Master  as  he  did.^  Were  this  question 
to  be  proposed  to  any  assembly  of  Christians,  and  if  an 
answer  was  to  be  immediately  given,  according  to  the 
spontaneous  feelings  of  the  heart,  it  would  be  perhaps 
one  universal  negative.  You  think  that  you  yourself 
would  certainly  never  have  committed  so  great  a  sin;  and 
still  it  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  you  are  cherishing 
secret  hope  that  your  sins  are  forgiven,  and  are  yet  con- 
cealing it  from  others.  You  hope  you  are  the  Savior's 
friend,  but  you  are  afraid  or  ashamed  to  have  it  known. 
You  wish  to  make  secret  peace;  and  are  unwilling  to 
repair  openly,  the  injury  which  you  have  openly  done. 

Still,  you  will  say  perhaps,  that,  though  this  may  be 
wrong,  there  is  a  great  difference  between  such  a  con- 
cealment, and  repeatedly  and  plainly  denying  the  Savior 
in  express  assertions. 

True.  And  so  there  is  a  great  difference  between 
the  degree  of  danger  which  leads  you  to  deny  your 
master,  and  that  which  overwhelmed  Peter.  You  are 
afraid  of  a  taunt,  or  of  some  harmless  sarcasm;  scourg- 
ing and  crucifixion  threatened  him.  You  are  afraid  of 
the  looks  and  words  of  a  few  of  your  own  companions; 
he  quailed  before  weapons  of  torture  and  death,  in  the 
hands  of  a  ferocious  soldiery;  if  you  consider,  therefore, 
the  difference  between  the  modes  by  which  your  prac- 
tical denial  of  Christ,  and  his,  are  exhil>ited,  you  must 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFERS.  245 

Denying  Christ  at  the  present  day.  The  narrative  resumed. 

also  consider  the  difference  in  the  strength  of  the  tempt- 
ation by  which  you  are  respectively  overcome.  The  sin 
is  the  same  in  its  nature  in  both  cases,  and  though  yours 
is  less  conspicuous,  it  may  be  even  more  aggravated  than 
his. 

The  sin  of  Peter,  is,  in  all  its  essential  characteristics, 
very  often  committed  by  those  who  profess  to  abhor  it. 
Brought  as  we  are,  in  such  a  world  as  this,  into  per- 
petual connexion  with  the  influences  of  sin,  we  are  very 
often  thrown  into  circumstances  where  we  think  it  most 
prudent,  for  a  time,  to  conceal  the  flag  under  which  we 
profess  to  sail.  There  is  no  great  danger  which  we 
dread;  but  when  we  come  into  scenes  where  Jesus 
Christ  is  not  honored,  and  where  his  principles  are  in 
disrepute,  we  quietly  conceal  our  attachment  to  him, 
and  while  we  perhaps  say  nothing  that  is  false,  we  allow 
ourselves  to  pass  for  worldly  men,  by  speaking  in  their 
tone,  and  displaying,  so  far  as  we  can,  their  spirit.  We 
are  ashamed  or  afraid  to  avow  our  principles,  and, 
consequently,  we  stand  substantially  where  Peter  did. 
There  is  in  fact  no  essential  difference  between  his  case 
and  ours.  The  circumstances  are  altered,  but  the  spirit 
is  the  same. 

But  we  must  go  on  with  our  story.  The  Jews,  too 
punctilous  to  go  themselves  into  the  judgment  hall,  wait- 
ed in  the  street  and  sent  their  prisoner  in.  The  conver- 
sation which  ensued  is  one  of  the  most  striking  examples 
which  the  Bible  contains;  —  every  incident  being  so 
true  to  nature,  and  every  word  so  exactly  in  keeping 
with  the  character  and  circumstances  of  the  individual 
who  utters  it.  It  was  substantially  as  follows.  While 
reviewing  it,  however,  we  must  keep  in  mind  the  strongly 
marked  characteristics  of  the  three  great  parties  in  the 
transaction.  Jesus  the  victim,  patient,  quiet  and  sub- 
missive, ready  to  bear  and  to  suffer  every  thing ;  silent 
21* 


246  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

Qiaracters  of  the  parties.  The  dialogue  in  the  street. 

under  mere  taunts,  but  ready  to  explain,  when  any  one 
shall  honestly  ask  for  explanation.  The  crov^d  in  the 
street,  eager  for  liis  destruction,  but  without  power  to 
effect  it  unless  tliey  can  obtain  permission  from  the  gov- 
ernor, before  whose  palace  they  have  assembled;  and 
the  governor  himself,  caring  noliiing  about  the  Jews  or 
their  pretended  criminal;  but  unwilling  either  to  put  an 
innocent  man  to  death,  or  to  displease  the  people  under 
his  command,  and  standing  especially  in  awe  of  any- 
thing which  might  hazard  his  political  character  in  the 
estimation  of  the  emperor  at  Rome.  Agitated  and  dis- 
tracted by  the  contradictory  impulses  of  these  feelings, 
he  vacillates  and  wavers,  and  tries  every  way  to  escape 
the  responsibility  of  a  decision. 

"  What  accusation  do  you  bring  against  this  man," 
was  the  first  and  most  natural  question.  P41ate  came 
out  to  ask  it  of  those  who  had  assembled  at  the  door. 

They  answered  that  he  was  a  malefactor.  Perhaps 
they  had  not  decided  upon  the  precise  charge  which  they 
should  bring  against  him. 

"  Very  well,"  was  the  reply,  "  take  him  and  judge  him 
according  to  your  law." 

"  He  deserves  death,  and  that,  it  is  not  lawful  for  us 
to  inflict,"  they  replied.  '*We  have  therefore  brought 
him  to  you." 

A  conversation  now  ensued,  in  which  they  brought  out 
their  charge,  adapted  to  the  feelings  of  the  new  judge. 
The  old  accusation  was  hlasphemy.  Now  it  is  treason. 
Treason  against  the  Roman  government.  This,  too, 
when  every  Jew,  from  Galilee  to  Gaza,  abhorred  the 
Roman  yoke,  and  would  have  almost  deified  any  one 
who  would  have  raised  successfully  the  standard  of  rebel- 
lion. Every  Roman  tax-gatherer  was  hated,  and  every 
mark  of  their  political  subjection  was  odious  in  the  ex- 
treme; and  they  had  themselves  actually  tried  in  vain 
to   lead    Jesus  to   say   something    against   the  Roman 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  247 

Charge  of  treason.  Pilate  and  the  Savior  in  the  hall. 

government,  supposing  that  he  would  not  dare  to  brave 
public  opinion  so  far  as  to  speak  in  its  favor.  In  the 
face  of  all  this,  they  come,  heartless  pretenders  to  an 
allegiance  which  they  did  not  feel,  to  denounce  him  to 
their  common  enemy,  for  what  they  would,  every  man 
of  them,  have  been  glad  to  have  had  done.  It  was  the 
basest  of  all  charges  ever  brought  against  the  victim  of 
any  oppression.  They  accuse  him,  before  their  common 
enemy,  of  being  their  own  friend:  for  treason  against 
Caesar,  would  have  been  political  attachment  to  them;  so 
that  if  he  had  uttered  sentiments  hostile  to  the  powerful 
foe,  which  had  brought  one  common  oppression  over  the 
land  of  their  fathers,  it  would  have  been  base  treachery 
for  them  to  have  disclosed  it. 

But  he  had  not.  They  took  some  of  his  metaphorical 
expressions,  and  perverted  them  to  a  meaning  which  they 
were  never  intended  to  convey;  and  endeavored  from 
these  to  maintain  their  charge  of  treason  against  Caesar. 

The  charge  was  well  calculated  to  produce  some  effect. 
It  evidently  arrested  the  attention  of  the  Roman,  and  he 
went  into  the  hall,  where  Jesus  stood  waiting,  to  ask  for 
his  defence. 

The  manner  in  which  he  accosted  him  seems  to  imply 
that  Pilate  thought  it  probable  that  his  prisoner  was  some 
insane  or  at  least  eccentric  man,  against  whom  his  coun- 
trymen had  been  for  some  reason  exasperated;  for  he 
does  not  put  the  charge  of  treason  to  him  as  an  accusa- 
tion against  which  he  wished  to  hear  his  defence;  "  Art 
thou  the  king  of  the  Jews?"  said  he;  as  if  his  object 
was,  to  put  him  off  his  guard,  by  saying  nothing  which 
implied  reproach,  but  only  endeavoring  to  draw  him  into 
conversation. 

**  Dfo  you  ask  the  question  of  your  own  accord?  "  was 
the  Savior's  reply,  (We  give  the  conversation  in  sub- 
stance only,)  "  or  is  that  the  charge  which  they  bring 
against  me." 


248  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  8. 

Pilate's  efTorts.  Hia  inquiries.  His  plan  fur  avoiding  a  decisioiu 

"  Am  I  a  Jew?  "  was  the  rejoinder.  **  What  interest 
should  1  take  in  the  atlairs  of  your  people  ?  Your  own 
countrymen  have  brought  you  hero  to  me,  as  a  criminal: 
what  is  it  that  you  have  done.'' " 

"  They  accuse  me  then  of  trying  to  be  a  king.  Ihave 
spoken  sometimes  of  a  kiui^dom,  but  it  is  not  of  this 
world.  It  is  perfectly  plain  that  I  have  aimed  at  no 
political  power;  If  I  had,  I  should  never  have  yielded 
up  myself  to  my  enemies  without  a  struggle.  JVIy  friends 
would  have  fought  for  me  if  this  had  been  the  nature  of 
my  aim.  No:  the  kingdom  I  have  spoken  of  is  not  of 
this  world." 

"  Are  you  a  king  then,  in  any  sense?  " 

''Yes,  I  am.  I  came  into  the  world  to  found  a  new 
moral  kingdom  here,  by  bearing  witness  to  the  truth." 

"What  is  your  truth?"  asked  the  Roman;  but  ap- 
parently not  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  went  out  to  the  door 
again,  and  told  the  multitude  there,  that  he  found  no 
fault  in  the  man.  He  probably  supposed  that  he  was 
some  ignorant  and  deluded,  but  harmless,  enthusiast, 
whose  case  deserved  no  serious  notice. 

The  priests,  however,  renewed  their  charges.  They 
assured  the  governor  that  their  prisoner  was  really  a 
dangerous  man,  that  he  had  been  exciting  sedition,  and 
teaching  the  people  treason  against  the  Roman  govern- 
ment, all  over  the  land,  from  Galilee  to  Jerusalem. 

The  word  Galilee  suggested  to  the  perplexed  Roman  a 
new  way  of  extricating  himself  from  the  difficulty,  for  it 
was  fast  becoming  quite  a  serious  difficulty  to  him.  His 
sense  of  justice  would  not  allow  him  to  condemn  the  man, 
but  he  could  not  resist  the  clamor  which  demanded  his 
death.  The  word  Galilee  reminded  him  that  he  might 
throw  off  the  responsibility  of  the  decision  upon  Herod, 
who  had  jurisdiction  over  that  province,  and  who  was, 
at  this  time,  accidentally  at  Jerusalem.  He  sent  him 
therefore  to  Herod,  his  accusers  following  in  the  train. 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  249 

Herod.  The  Savior's  silence.  Another  plan. 

Herod  was  glad  to  see  them  come,  when  he  heard  who 
it  was  they  were  bringing.  He  did  not  wish,  Uke  Pilate, 
honestly  to  examine  the  case,  but  hoped  for  amusement 
from  his  prisoner.  Jesus  perceived  it  at  once;  and 
though  he  frankly  explained  to  Pilate  his  character  and 
plans,  to  Herod's  questions  of  curiosity  and  insult,  he 
deigned  no  reply.  The  Priests  and  scribes  accused 
him  vehemently,  but  he  was  silent.  They  clothed  him 
in  a  gorgeous  robe,  in  ridicule  of  his  supposed  preten- 
sions, and  then  sent  him  back  to  Pilate. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  Procurator  was  much 
perplexed  to  know  what  to  do.  Duty  was  on  the  one 
side,  and  strong  inducement  to  do  wrong  on  the  other, 
and  he  wavered,  and  hesitated,  and  resisted,  and  inclined 
now  to  this  side,  and  now  to  that,  just  as  the  human  mind 
so  often  does,  in  circumstances  substantially  the  same. 
Millions  of  men,  who  struggle  ineffectually  with  tempta- 
tion to  do  acknowledged  wrong,  may  see  their  own  story 
told,  and  almost  their  own  hearts  reflected  in  this  scene. 

His  first  plan  was,  to  compromise  the  difficulty. 

"  You  have  brought  me  this  man,"  said  he,  "  as  one 
that  is  exciting  the  people  against  my  government.  I 
have  examined  him,  here  before  you,  and  cannot  find 
any  evidence  of  his  guilt.  I  have  sent  him  to  Herod 
too,  and  he  finds  no  more  evidence  than  I.  Now  I  am 
willing  to  inflict  some  moderate  punishment  upon  him, 
but  he  has  done  nothing  worthy  of  death." 

This  of  course  did  not  satisfy  them.  They  were  de- 
termined, if  the  most  urgent  demands  on  their  part  could 
prevent  it,  that  he  should  not  escape  so. 

Pilate  then  thought  of  another  plan.  It  had  been 
customary  for  him  at  their  great  festival,  to  release  some 
public  criminal  as  a  favor  to  them.  In  a  conquered 
country,  the  interests  of  the  government  are  generally 
regarded  as  so  distinct  from  those  of  the  people,  that  even 
the  punishment  of  criminals,  especially  those  guilty  of 


250  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8, 

Barabbas  called  for.  The  excitement.  Pilate's  perplexity^ 

political  crimes,  is  regarded  as  in  some  sense,  an  injury 
to  the  community.  A  foreign  power  comes  and  estab- 
lishes itself  over  them,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  even 
wholesome  control  should  be  unj)0|)ular,  and  that  the 
pardon  of  a  state  criminal  should  be  regarded  as  a  boon 
from  the  authorities, —  a  suitable  contribution  from  the 
government,  to  the  means  of  rejoicing  at  a  great  public 
festival. 

The  Roman  proposed,  then,  since  they  insisted  that 
Jesus  should  be  condemned  to  die,  to  consider  him  as 
thus  condemned,  and  then  to  pardon  him,  as  it  was  usual 
to  pardon  one  on  the  occasion  which  had  now  arrived. 
He  might  have  known  that  this  would  not  succeed. 
The  crowd  were  all  ready  with  their  reply.  "  Release 
Barabbas;"  "Pardon  Barabbas;"  "Barabbas,"  came 
up  from  a  hundred  voices. 

"  What  shall  I  do  then  with  this  Jesus." 

"  Crucify  him;"  "  Crucify  him." 

"  Why,  what  evil  hath  he  done?  He  is  not  guilty." 

"  Crucify  him;"  "  Crucify  him;"  was  the  universal 
reply. 

The  perplexed  and  distressed  Procurator  seems 
scarcely  to  have  known  what  to  do.  The  crowd  must, 
by  this  time,  have  become  very  great,  and  was  probably 
every  moment  increasing.  Passions  were  rising,  — 
violent  gesticulations,  and  ferocious  looks,  spoke  the 
intense  excitement  which  prevailed, —  and  he  must  have 
seen  that  there  was  the  most  imminent  danger  of  a  riot, 
perhaps  an  insurrection,  which  would  involve  him  in 
lasting  difficulty,  or  might  even  ruin  for  ever  his  political 
hopes.  He  could  allay  the  whole  by  giving  up  the  de- 
fenceless and  innocent  object  of  their  fury.  But  when 
he  looked  upon  him,  patient,  mild,  submissive,  waiting 
in  silence  to  learn  what  was  to  be  his  fate,  he  could  not 
do  it.     He  was  a  Roman,  and  he  knew  his  duty. 

It  was  very  plain,  however,  from  the  course  he  had 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  251 

The  scouro^in".  One  more  appeal  to  the  Savior's  enemies. 

taken  thus  far,  what  would  be  the  ultimate  decision. 
He  began  to  yield  at  first,  and  when  a  man  proposes 
terms  with  sin  of  any  kind,  it  is  not  difficult  to  foresee 
which  will  conquer.  Pilate  concluded  to  go  one  step 
farther;  to  scourge  the  prisoner,  in  hopes,  perhaps,  that 
when  they  came  to  witness  his  sutferings  under  the  lash, 
their  hearts  would  relent,  or  at  least  that  their  anger 
would  be  satisfied.  He  gave  him  up  to  the  soldiers 
tlierefore,  and  ordered  him  to  be  scourged. 

Scourging!  How  few  of  those  who  have  read  this 
story  have  any  idea  what  a  military  scourging  is.  I 
might  give  a  description  from  the  narratives  of  witnesses, 
for  the  horrid  suffering  is  still  inflicted  as  a  supposed 
essential  part  of  military  discipline.  But  it  must  not  be 
done;  I  could  not  introduce  to  my  readers,  by  distinct 
description,  a  hardy  soldier,  writhing  and  shrieking 
under  such  an  infliction,  without  passing  those  limits  in 
the  detail  of  physical  suffering,  beyond  which,  such  a 
work  as  this  ought  not  to  go.  How  Jesus  bore  it,  we 
are  not  told.  Pilate  hoped  it  would  satisfy  his  murder- 
ers.    It  would  have  satisfied  any  common  murderers. 

The  scourging  finished, —  the  bleeding  sufferer  was 
retained  some  time,  by  the  soldiers,  for  their  amusement. 
A  larger  number,  perhaps  nearly  the  whole  garrison  of 
Fort  Antonia,  were  called  to  enjoy  the  sport.  They 
crowned  him  with  thorns,  and  gave  him  a  reed  for  a 
sceptre,  and  then  with  the  gorgeous  robe  which  Herod 
had  found  for  him,  they  held  him  up  as  an  object  of  uni- 
versal derision. 

Pilate  at  length  came  forth  again,  to  make  a  last 
effort  to  save  the  prisoner. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  I  have  brought  him  forth  again, 
to  tell  you  once  more,  that  he  is  not  guilty.  Behold  the 
man,"  said  he,  as  he  pointed  to  the  prisoner,  covered 
with  marks  of  the  sufferings  and  indignities  he  had  borne. 
The  reed  was  in  his  hands,  the  purple  robe  around  him, 


252  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

The  decision.  Character  of  Pontius  Pilato. 

and  the  thorns  were  in  his  bleeding  temples.  No  won- 
der Pilate  thouglit  his  enemies  would  have  been  moved. 

"Crucify  him,"  "Crucify  him;"  was  the  universal 
reply. 

•'  You  must  take  him  then  and  crucify  him  yourselves, 
for  I  cannot  find  any  fault  in  him.  He  has  not  been 
guilty  of  treason." 

But  why  go  on  to  detail  the  faltering,  failing  efforts, 
which  the  Roman  officer  made  to  save  his  prisoner.  He 
had  begun  to  yield,  and  though  he  continued  to  dispute 
the  ground,  at  every  step  he  gave  way  more  and  more, 
until,  finding  that  riot  and  tumult  were  inevitable,  and 
when  it  was  pretty  distinctly  intimated  that  he  might  be 
denounced  at  Rome,  as  a  traitor  himself,  if  he  allowed 
this  supposed  traitor  to  go  free,  he  finally  yielded.  Be- 
fore giving,  however,  the  orders  for  his  crucifixion,  he 
came  out  before  the  multitude,  and  in  the  most  solemn 
manner  assured  them,  that  the  man  was  innocent,  and 
that  if  they  crucified  him,  they  must  answer  for  his 
blood. 

"  His  blood  be  on  us,  and  on  our  children;'*  was  the 
awful  reply.  , 

Very  few  men  ever  think  of  comparing  themselves 
with  Pontius  Pilate,  or  with  the  soldiers  who  executed 
his  orders;  when  perhaps  there  are  not  any  where  in  the 
Bible,  delineations  of  character  which  might  be  more 
universally  appropriated  than  these.  Neither  of  them 
had  any  special  hatred  for  the  Savior.  Pilate  would 
have  done  his  duty  if  he  could  have  done  it  by  any  com- 
mon sacrifice;  but  like  multitudes,  probably,  who  will 
read  this  examination  of  his  character,  he  was  not  willing 
to  make  the  sacrifice  which  was  necessary,  in  taking 
the  right  side.  The  reader  fluctuates,  perhaps,  just  as 
he  did,  between  conscience  and  temptation,  yielding 
more    and   more  to  sin,  and  finding  the  struggle  more 


Ch.  8.] 

THE    CRUCIPIERS.                                       253 

The  soldiers. 

Sinning  in  the  way  of  bnsiness. 

hopeless  the  longer  it  is  continued.  A  religious  book, 
an  afflictive  or  a  warning  providence,  or  an  hour  of  soli- 
tudC)  quickens  conscience,  and  renews  the  combat;  but 
the  world  comes  in  with  its  clamors,  and,  after  a  feeble 
resistance,  he  gives  way  again,—  Pilate  exactly,  in  every 
thing  but  the  mere  form  in  which  the  question  of  duty 
comes  before  him. 

And  the  Roman  soldiers  too;  they  would  have  said 
if  they  had  been  charged  with  doing  wrong,  that  they 
were  soldiers,  and  must  do  as  they  were  ordered.  They 
executed  Christ  as  they  would  have  executed  any  other 
man  at  their  centurion's  command.  Such  work  was 
their  business,  and  the  part  they  performed  in  the  sad 
tragedy  was,  as  the  phrase  is  at  the  present  day,  in  the 
way  of  business;  they  felt,  probably,  no  responsibility. 
The  excuse  was,  to  say  the  least,  as  good  then  as  it  is 
now,  and  it  will  be  allowed  as  much  weight  at  the  judg- 
ment day,  in  the  case  of  the  ignorant  and  degraded  sol- 
dier, as  in  that  of  the  enlightened  and  cultivated  member 
of  a  christian  community.  In  other  words,  it  is  no  excuse 
for  either.  The  bookseller  who  has  circulated  a  perni- 
cious book,  the  lawyer  who  has  fomented  the  quarrels 
which  he  ought  to  have  healed,  the  merchant  who  has 
distributed  over  the  community  the  temptations  to  vice 
or  the  means  of  gratifying  unholy  passions,  and  the 
soldiers  who  insulted  and  tortured  their  victim  in  obedi- 
ence to  their  commanders,  will  all  find  at  last,  that  the 
customs  or  regulations  of  business  among  men,  will 
never  justify  doing  what  conscience  declares  to  be  wrong. 

Such  is  the  marked  and  striking  variety  of  character 
which  is  exhibited  in  this  extraordinary  scene.  We 
have  the  soldiers  and  the  bystanders,  like  the  mass  of 
mankind,  unconcerned  and  reckless,  caring  little  about 
right  and  wrong,  and  controlled  in  their  conduct  by  the 
accidental  influence  of  circumstances, —  neither  fearing 
22 


254  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8 

Various  characters  exhibited  at  the  cross.  HiH  numerous  friend*. 

God,  nor  regarding  duly  ;  and  we  have  Pilate,  doubl- 
ing and  hesitating  in  the  struggle  against  sin, —  con- 
science awake,  and  yet  temptation  j)owerful,  and  the 
contest  ending,  as  sucii  contests  usually  do,  in  the  victo- 
ry of  sin.  They  are  fair  examples  of  the  two  great  forms 
of  open  wickedness;  hardened  reprobates  sinning  without 
compunction,  and  the  wavering  and  miserable  soul  doing 
wrong  in  spite  of  it.  It  is  hard  to  tell  which  God  re- 
gards as  most  guilty.  We  have  hypocrisy,  also,  in  its 
two  leading  forms;  Judas  a  hypocrite  for  money,  and  the 
Priests,  hypocrites  for  place  and  power.  To  complete 
the  collection,  we  have  piety  in  its  two  leading  forms; 
the  wandering,  sinning,  and  broken-hearted  Peter;  and 
Mary  and  John,  firm  in  their  duty,  and  unwavering  in 
their  affection,  to  the  last;  sharing  the  opprobrium  and 
the  danger  of  their  Master,  and  keeping  closely  at  his 
side;  giving  him  all  that  human  sympathy  can  give,  and 
receiving  his  dying  charge. 

It  is  a  very  common  impression  that  the  populace, 
generally,  were  against  the  Savior,  at  this  time;  but  the 
narrative  does  not  seem  to  countenance  this  idea.  The 
Priests  were  against  him,  and  they  seem  to  have  been 
the  chief,  if  not  the  only  agents.  They  contrived  their 
plans  secretly,  in  order  to  get  him  apprehended,  and  to 
procure  sentence  against  him.  by  the  Roman  governor, 
before  there  should  be  any  opportunity  for  a  rescue  by 
the  people;  after  this,  they  knew  he  would  be  secure; 
and  now  when  he  was  led  away,  under  Roman  authority, 
to  execution,  they  seem  not  to  have  feared  any  inter- 
ruption. A  great  company  of  friends  did,  however,  fol- 
low him,  lamenting  his  cruel  fate.  He  once  turned  to 
address  them  on  his  way,  asking  them  to  weep  not  for 
him,  but  for  themselves  and  their  children. 

They  came  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  painful  as  it 
is,  we  must  dwell  a  few  moments  upon  the  scene  that 


Ch.   8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS  255 

Crucifixion.  Inflammation.  Thirst.  Suffering. 

was  presented  there.  He  was  to  be  crucified;  and  cru- 
cifixion is  perhaps  the  most  ingenious  and  the  most  per- 
fect invention  for  mingling  torture  and  death  which  was 
ever  contrived.  It  is  the  very  masterpiece  of  cruelty. 
Life  is  to  be  destroyed;  but  in  this  way  of  destroying  it, 
it  is  arranged  with  savage  ingenuity  that  no  vital  part 
shall  be  touched:  the  torturer  goes  to  the  very  extremi- 
ties,—  to  the  hands  and  to  the  feet,  and  fixes  his  rough 
and  rusty  iron  among  the  nerves  and  tendons  there; 
and  the  poor  sufferer  hangs  in  a  position  which  admits 
of  no  change  and  no  rest,  until  burning  and  torturing 
inflammation  can  work  its  way  slowly  to  the  seat  of  life, 
and  extinguish  it  by  the  simple  power  of  suffering. 

Thej  laid  the  Savior  down  upon  the  cross,  and  extend- 
ed his  arms;  a  soldier  on  each  side,  holds  the  hand  down 
in  its  assigned  position,  and  then  presses  the  point  of  his 
iron  spike  upon  the  proper  place  in  the  palm.  He  rais- 
es his  hammer, —  the  patient  sufferer  waiting  calmly  for 
the  blow; — 

But  we  must  stop;  —  we  are  going  beyond  those  lim- 
its in  the  detail  of  physical  suffering,  which  we  have  said 
a  writer  in  such  a  work  as  this,  should  not  pass  over. 
We  leave  the  rest,  and  the  reader  must  conceive  if  he 
can,  of  the  first  sharp  piercing  agony,  and  the  excruci- 
ating pains  then  shooting  through  the  frame; — the  ris- 
ing inflammation,  and  the  intolerable  thirst,  which  goads 
a  wounded  man  almost  to  desperation,  and  brings  up 
from  a  field  of  battle,  a  few  hours  after  the  contest,  one 
universal  cry  for  water,  from  the  thousands  who  lie 
wounded  and  dying.  As  the  Savior  hangs,  too,  by  such 
a  suspension,  hour  after  hour,  we  must  remember  that 
he  had  been  scourged.  .  Perhaps  this  was  in  mercy,  how- 
ever.    He  died  sooner  than  the  malefactors. 

But  it  is  too  awful  a  scene  to  dwell  upon.  We  may 
read  the  narrative  in  the  gospels,  without  much  feeling, 
because  we   have   long   been   familiar  with  the  words, 


256  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  8. 

Death.  The  eoldiera'  visit  at  sunset.  The  body  taken  down. 

and  they  cease  to  afiect  us.  But  if  the  imagination  re- 
ally enters  into  the  scene,  she  recoils,  awed  and  terrified 
with  the  contemplation  of  such  suflerings.  Very  few 
men  would  have  nerve  enough  to  witness  what  the  Re- 
deemer was  willing  to  endure. 

Life  was  slow  in  relinquishing  its  hold,  attacked  thus, 
as  it  was,  in  the  remote  extremities.  It  sunk  at  last,  how- 
ever, under  the  power  of  protracted  pain.  The  sufferer 
ceased  to  speak;  his  head  dropped  upon  his  breast;  and 
as  they  looked  up  to  his  face  from  below,  the  rigid  fixed- 
ness of  feature,  and  the  half  closed  and  glassy  eye  toLd 
them  that  all  was  over. 

In  crucifixion,  ingenious  and  savage  cruelty  maintains 
her  ground  to  the  very  last;  for  when  the  executioner 
gets  tired  of  waiting  for  the  miserable  sufferer  to  die, 
and  time  compels  him  to  do  something  to  accelerate  the 
work,  he  has  not  the  mercy  to  destroy  the  sad  remnant 
of  vitality  at  a  blow.  He  keeps,  still,  as  far  as  possible 
away  from  the  seat  of  life,  and  by  new  violence  inflicted 
on  the  limbs,  endeavors  simply  to  send  a  new  pang,  as  a 
reinforcement  to  the  assailant,  in  the  protracted  contest 
between  life  and  suffering.  It  is  the  very  object  and 
aim  of  crucifixion  to  kill  by  pain,  and  with  savage  con- 
sistency they  will  employ  no  other  agent  to  speed  the 
work.  Accordingly  when,  at  sunset,  the  soldiers  came 
to  the  place  of  execution  to  see  how  the  fatal  process 
was  going  on,  they  broke  the  malefactors'  legs  to  quicken 
their  dying  struggles. 

"He  is  dead  already,"  said  they,  when  they  came  to 
the  Savior's  cross,  and  looked  at  the  body  hanging  pas- 
sive and  lifeless  upon  it,  and  one  of  them  thrust  his  long 
iron-pointed  spear  up  into  his  side,  to  prove  that  there 
was  no  sense  or  feeling  there. 

The  ferocious  executioners  then  went  away  and  left 
the  disciples  to  take  the  body  gently  down,  and  bear  it 


Ch.  8.]  THE    CRUCIFIERS.  257 

The  disciples.  Moral  effect  of  the  scene. 

away  to  the  tomb.     As  they  carried  it  to  what  they  sup- 
posed would  be  its  long  home,  the  limbs  hung  relaxed 
and  passive;  the  tongue,  to  whose  words  of  kindness  and 
instruction  they  had  so  often  listened,  was  silent;    the 
eye  fixed, —  the  cheek  pale, —  the  hand   cold.     The  sol- 
diers had  done  their  work  effectually;   and  though  the 
disciples  could  not  have  noticed  these  proofs  that  their 
Master  had  really  gone,  without   tears,  they  must  still 
have  rejoiced  that  the  poor  sufferer's  agonies  were  over. 
As  to  themselves,  all  their  hopes  were  blasted,  and  all 
their   plans  destroyed.     They  had  firmly  believed    that 
their  Master  was  to  have  been  the  Savior  of  his  nation; 
instead  of  that,  he  had  been  himself  destroyed.     The  day 
before,  every  thing  had  looked  bright  and  promising  in 
their  prospects;   but  this  sudden  storm  had  come  on,  and 
in  twenty-four  hours,  it    had  swept  every  thing    away. 
They  placed  the  body  in  the  tomb,   and,  disappointed, 
broken-hearted,    and    overwhelmed   with     sorrow,    they 
went   to  their  homes.     They  knew  nothing    about    the 
design  and  nature  of  these  sufferings, —  and  we  know, 
after  all,   but  little;  but  who  can  be  so  insensible  as  not 
to  see,  that  this  transaction,  exhibiting  on  so  conspicuous 
a  stage  all  the  forms  and  degrees  both  of  holiness  and 
sin,  and  especially  when  seen  in  the  light  in  which  the 
sacred  writers  subsequently  exhibited  it,  goes  very  far 
towards  making  the  same  moral  impression,  as  would  be 
made  by  the  just  punishment  of  sin.     Who  can  read  the 
story,  without  loving  purity  and  holiness,  and  abhorring 
and  dreading  guilt. 

22* 


S58  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Plan  of  the  work.  lioinaii  life.  Aiuicipated  ImppineM. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  PARTING  COMMAND, 
OR  THE  MEANS  OP  SPREADING  THE  GOSPEL. 
"  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature.'* 
Were  we  to  follow  inclination,  we  should  not  pass 
over  those  most  interesting  events,  which  occurred  during 
the  interval  between  the  Savior's  death  and  ascension. 
But  it  is  not  the  design  of  this  work,  as  the  reader  will 
have  already  perceived,  to  give  a  connected  and  contin- 
uous history  of  Jesus  Christ,  but  to  bring  forward  the 
leading  principles  of  religious  truth,  as  they  are  naturally 
connected  with  the  various  points  of  this  history.  Fi- 
delity to  our  plan  therefore  seems  to  require,  that  after 
having  considered  the  sufferings  which  our  Savior 
endured  for  us,  we  should  pass  on  to  the  consideration 
of  the  great  work  which  he  wishes  us  now  to  do  for  him. 
He  assigned  this  work  to  his  disciples  by  his  last  words 

The  objects  and  the  pursuits  of  human  life  are  entirely 
changed,  by  the  view  which  the  gospel  takes  of  the  hu- 
man condition  and  character.  Without  the  light  which 
Christianity  sheds  upon  it,  it  is  a  dull  and  wearisome 
path,  a  routine  of  tiresome  duties,  or  heartless  pleasures. 
Every  one  will  admit  that  it  has  been  so  with  him,  in 
respect  to  the  past,  though  his  future  way  seems  gilded 
with  new  promises  of  enjoyment.  These  however  will 
certainly  fade  away  when  he  approaches  them,  as  all  the 
rest  have  done. 

The  mass  of  mankind,  never  see  this.  They  know, 
it  is  true,  that  they  have  never  been  contented  and  hap- 
py, and  are  not  now;  but  just  before  them,  in  the  voyage 
of  life,  they  see  a  bright  spot  upon  the  waters,  which 
they  expect   soon  to  reach,  and  where  their  bark  will 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  259 

What  have  I  to  live  for.  The  work  of  a  Christian. 

float,  they  think,  in  a  golden  sea  of  light  and  glory. 
That  spot  has  been  just  so  far  before  them,  and  has 
looked  just  as  bright  and  alluring  for  years, —  and  as 
they  have  approached  it,  the  splendid  reflection  has  fled, 
and  the  waters  have  returned  to  darkness  and  gloom, 
before  the  keel  of  their  bark  could  plough  them.  Still 
they  have  not  discovered  this  illusion,  but  they  give 
themselves  up  to  its  influence,  with  their  whole  souls,  and 
press  forward  as  eagerly  to  the  spot  of  imagined  happi- 
ness, as  if  it  had  just  this  moment  burst  upon  their  view. 

The  more  thinking  and  serious,  however,  see  this, 
and  feel  it  deeply.  It  seems  to  them  discouraging  to 
toil  on  in  duties,  which  return  every  day  the  same,  and 
the  performance  of  which  leaves  behind  no  permanent 
eflTects;  or  to  seek  for  pleasures,  which  the  experience 
of  years  has  proved  can  seldom  be  attained,  and  which, 
when  they  are  attained,  do  not  satisfy.  These  feelings 
have  oppressed  many  a  sensitive  and  reflecting  spirit, 
as  it  has  looked  forward  to  the  years  of  life  that  remain, 
and  thought  how  soon  they  would  be  gone,  and  has 
asked  with  a  desponding  sigh,  '*  What  have  I  to  live 
for?" 

The  true  followers  of  Jesus  Christ  are  raised  at  once 
above  the  vacuity  and  inanity  which  characterize  a  life 
spent  without  God.  Their  Master  did  not  leave  the 
world,  without  giving  them  something  to  do.  Something, 
at  once  pleasant,  and  useful,  and  ennobling.  It  is  pleas- 
ant, because  it  interests  all  the  feelings  of  the  heart, 
and  carries  the  soul  on  to  peaceful,  but  rich  enjoyments, 
of  the  very  highest  character.  It  is  useful;  it  seeks  di- 
rectly the  highest  good,  aiming  at  happiness  present  and 
future,  and  attaching  its  own  proper  share  of  importance 
to  every  means  of  attaining  it.  It  is  ennobling;  for  it 
sinks  all  the  base  passions  of  selfishness  and  sin,  it  breaks 
over  the  barriers  and  limits  of  time  and  sense,  and  ex- 
pands the  views  and  widens  the  field  of  eflTort   and  by 


260  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.  9. 

The  Christian's  work.  Means  of  doing  it.  i.  Holy  life. 

linking  man  with  God,  in  one  great  and  common  enter- 
prise, it  raises  him  almost  out  of  the  sphere  of  human 
action,  and  gives  liim  an  employment  eternal  in  duration, 
and  unbounded  in  the  wide-spread   extension  of  its  aims. 

The  work  which  Christ  has  given  us  to  do,  is  the  pro- 
motion of  his  kingdom  here,  and  it  is  the  work  of  all. 
If  tliere  is  anything  clearly  asserted  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament, it  is  that  the  followers  of  the  Savior  are  not  their 
own,  but  his;  that  fliey  are  bought  with  a  price,  and 
are  bound  to  be  devoted  to  their  Maker's  service.  The 
great  work  too,  which,  in  his  service,  they  are  called 
upon  to  perform,  is  establishing  and  spreading  the  reign 
of  holiness  in  this  world;  and  it  is  of  such  fundamental 
importance  that  every  Christian  should  understand  clear- 
ly his  duty  in  this  respect,  that  a  chapter  ought  to  be 
devoted  to  it;  and  as  it  is  a  subject  which  relates  exclu- 
sively to  personal  duty,  I  shall  adopt  the  form  of  direct 
address  to  my  reader. 

When  you  give  yourself  up  to  the  service  of  Jesus 
Christ,  then,  consider  how  much  is  meant  by  it.  It  in- 
volves, among  other  things  which  have  already  been 
considered,  devoting  yourself  to  his  work.  To  bring 
men  to  repentance  and  holiness  was  the  work  of  his  life; 
if  you  follow  him,  then,  it  must  be  yours.  This  point, 
however,  was  considered  more  fully,  in  a  preceding 
chapter.  Our  object  is  now,  not  to  enforce  the  duty, 
but  to  show  rather,  by  what  means  it  is  to  be  performed. 
These  we  shall  consider  in  order.. 

1. A    HOLV    LIFE. 

The  most  direct  and  powerful  means  of  promoting  the 
Savior's  kingdom,  is  the  vigorous  cultivation  of  your  own 
growth  in  grace.  There  is  a  great  tendency  among 
Christians,  to  look  too  much  away  from  themselves,  and 
think  that  they  are  to  do  good  to  their  fellow  men,  by 
bustling  efforts,  bearing  directly  upon  them,  without  the 


Ch.  9.] 

THE 

PARTING 

COMMAND 

261 

Two  kinds  of  influence. 

Tlie  salt  of  the 

earth. 

light  of  a  high  and  consistent,  and  unsulHed  example  of 
holiness.  "  Ye  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  said  our  Savior, 
and  the  very  expressive  metaphor  seems  to  imply  that 
Christianity  is  to  influence  mankind,  not  so  much  by  its 
outward  and  open  triumphs  in  the  world,  as  by  the  silent 
and  unseen,  and  yet  most  powerful  operation  of  its  prin- 
ciples, in  the  hearts  and  lives  of  its  professors.  The 
thousands  of  individual  Christians  are  surrounded,  each 
in  his  own  little  sphere,  with  some,  upon  whom  they 
exert  a  constant  influence.  The  aggregate  of  this  in- 
fluence, is  immense.  Each  individual,  however,  is  re- 
sponsible only  for  his  own  comparatively  minute  and 
separate  share;  but  success  in  securing  it,  in  every  part, 
and  consequently  in  the  whole,  depends  on  personal 
Christian  character. 

To  show  this,  let  us  consider  the  amount  of  influence 
of  two  distinct  kinds,  which  may  be  exerted  by  a  particu- 
lar church.  It  consists,  we  will  suppose,  of  a  hundred 
members;  and  in  the  daily  business  and  pursuits  of  life, 
they  are  connected,  probably,  more  or  less  directly,  with 
two  thousand  persons.  That  is,  there  are  two  thousand 
persons,  at  least,  who  are  acquainted  with  some  one  or 
more  of  them.  One  kind  of  influence  then,  exerted  by 
these  Christians,  is,  that  of  their  private  character  and 
conduct,  and  the  spirit  manifested  in  their  dealings  as  they 
affect  these  two  thousand.  Again,  they  are  interested, 
we  will  suppose,  in  the  spread  of  religion,  and  they  con- 
tribute a  considerable  sum  of  money,  to  circulate  bibles 
or  tracts,  or  to  support  missionaries  in  foreign  lands.  Now 
the  point  is,  that  the  former,  viz.  the  private  influence, 
exerted  over  those  with  whom  they  come  into  immediate 
connexion,  is  far  more  important  than  the  other.  It  is 
this  kind  of  influence,  which  is  more  frequently  spoken  of 
in  the  New  Testament  than  the  other;  and  if  the  church 
felt  the  importance,  and  universally  acted  accordingly, 
the  gospel  would  make  far  more  rapid  progress  in  the 


262  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll,  9. 

Duties  to  ourselves.  Common  danger.  Looking  to  others. 

world,  than  it  now  does.  The  reader  will  see  in  the 
sequel,  that  I  do  not  mean  to  undervalue  the  second 
mode  of  promoting  Clirist's  kingdom.  It  should  have  its 
proper  place;  but  the  first  and  great  duty  of  every  Chris- 
tian, is  to  see  that  his  own  heart  is  right,  and  that  the 
light  of  the  glory  of  God,  shines  in  all  his  private  conduct. 

And  yet  this  is  very  often  forgotten.  The  heart,  de- 
ceitful and  hard  towards  God,  loves  to  forget  it.  We 
seek  moral  renewal  for  ourselves,  and  we  feel,  at  first, 
a  strong  interest  in  our  Maker's  service;  but  the  world 
comes  in  again,  and  gets  the  victory;  and  since  we  do 
not  like  to  renew  the  painful  struggle  necessary  to 
overthrow  it  once  more,  we  leave  ourselves,  and  endeavor 
to  quiet  conscience  by  activity  in  our  eflTorts  to  save 
others  from  their  sins.  Our  pride  is  gratified  by  the 
thought,  that  we  stand  on  safer  and  better  ground  than 
those  for  whom  we  labor,  and  many  other  worldly  feel- 
ings may  be  gratified,  in  divising,  and  executing  our 
plans.  In  the  meantime,  our  own  hearts  remain  cold 
and  dead;  our  petitions  become  feeble,  our  prayers 
formal;  desires  for  real  spiritual  blessings  for  our  own 
souls  are  gone,  and  we  work  industriously,  with  the 
pretence  of  endeavoring  to  procure  for  others,  what  we 
do  not  really  desire  for  ourselves. 

This  must  not  be  so,  if  we  wish  to  do  any  good  to  the 
cause  of  Christ.  We  must  look  within,  and  seek  first 
to  eradicate  our  own  sins,  and  have  our  own  hearts  right. 
We  should  pray  for  spiritual  blessings  for  ourselves,  and 
see  that  we  do  it  sincerely.  Many  and  many  a  night 
when  the  Christian  kneels  for  his  evening  prayers,  he 
cannot  honestly  ask  God  to  come  and  be  with  him.  The 
world  has  full  possession;  and  if  he  prays  in  words,  that 
God  would  come  and  break  its  chains,  it  is  with  a  secret 
wish  that  he  may  not  be  heard.  If  we  examine  ourselves 
with  careful  scrutiny,  we  shall  often  find  that  this  is 
really  the  case.     The  Christian,  therefore,  who  wishes 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  263 

Watching  one's  self.  Common  way  of  evading  duty. 

to  be  at  his  post,  and  to  act  efficiently  for  his  Master, 
should  pray  for  himself,  and  see  that  he  can  pray  hon- 
estly. 

Again,  he  should  watch  himself.  We  are  all  far  more 
willing  to  watch  one  another,  than  to  watch  ourselves. 
It  is  easier,  and  more  pleasant  to  see  the  faults  of  others, 
than  our  own.  We  like  to  think  of  the  obstinacy,  and 
ingratitude,  and  folly  of  those  that  are  entirely  withoiut 
God  in  the  world,  far  better  than  to  see  the  same  qualities 
in  ourselves,  who  profess  to  have  tasted  of  the  happiness 
of  piety  and  then  have  almost  thrown  the  cup  aside. 
Now  there  is,  unquestionably,  such  a  fault  as  turning 
our  thoughts  too  exclusively  to  ourselves.  Many  per- 
sons err  in  this  way,  and  to  them,  advice  contrary  to  this, 
should  be  given.  But  such  cases  are  rare.  The  mass 
of  Christians,  especially  in  this  busy  age,  are  far  more 
inclined  to  be  watchful  over  all  their  neighbors,  than 
over  themselves,  and  especially  to  see  the  hardness 
of  heart,  and  the  base  ingratitude  exhibited  by  sinners, 
while  they  entirely  overlook  their  own. 

Once  more;  we  should  labor  for  our  own  spiritual  good. 
In  religious  action,  the  natural  law  in  respect  to  selfish- 
ness seems  to  be  reversed.  We  are  far  more  ready  to 
toil  for  others,  than  for  ourselves;  we  had  rather  that 
they  would  repent,  than  that  we  should  grow  in  grace; — 
we  prefer  buying  and  distributing  a  dozen  tracts  for  the 
unregenerate,  to  reading  attentively  and  prayerfully  a 
treatise  designed  to  promote  our  own  progress  in  holi- 
ness. 

This  is  not  surprising,  though  it  is  very  wrong.  Un- 
happily for  us,  moral  renovation  leaves  sin  in  our  hearts, 
wounded,  indeed,  but  very  imperfectly  subdued;  and  this 
is  one  of  the  forms,  which,  for  ever  deceitful,  it  continu- 
ally assumes;  but  it  must  not  be  so.  The  best  way  to 
spread  religion,  is  to  exemplify  it.  A  pure  church  is  the 
most  powerful  army;  the  Christian  armor  consists  of  the 


264  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Influence  of  jiersonal  hulincsa.  Influence  of  action. 

Christian  graces,  and  it  is  with  these,  that  victories 
really  valuable,  are  alone  to  be  won. 

But  it  is  not  my  intention  here,  to  point  out  the  means 
of  growing  in  grace,  but  only  to  bring  to  view  the  im- 
portance of  a  high  standard  of  personal  holiness  among 
believers,  as  a  means  of  spreading  the  religion  of  the 
Savior,  There  is  a  great  tendency  to  look  with  too  ex- 
clusive an  interest  at  the  public  movements  of  the  church 
in  its  efforts  to  extend  its  boundaries,  while  the  far  more 
powerful  influences  which  might  be  exerted  by  piety  and 
holiness  within,  are  comparatively  neglected.  The  in- 
terest felt,  however,  in  the  public  movements  of  the 
church,  is  not  yet  half  what  it  ought  to  be.  I  do  not 
wish  to  depress  the  one,  but  to  raise  the  other.  In  fact 
they  generally  go  hand  in  hand.  Right  eflx)rts,  made  in 
the  right  spirit,  are  among  the  very  best  means  of  promot- 
ing piety  and  spiritual  progress,  in  the  individual  who 
makes  them;  there  is  a  sort  of  reflex  action  that  brings  to 
his  own  heart,  the  blessings  which  he  seeks  to  bring  down 
upon  others.  But  to  accomplish  this  object,  they  must 
be  right  efforts,  made  in  the  right  spirit:  and  here  is  the 
danger. 

In  fact  there  is  no  question  that  a  man  may  be  led  to 
the  most  vigorous  efforts  to  promote  the  cause  of  religion 
from  motives  which  are  altogether  distinct  from  those 
which  the  Savior  requires.  Self  interest,  party  spirit, 
love  of  honor,  spiritual  pride,  and  a  thousand  other  mo- 
tives animate  a  vast  proportion  of  the  zeal  which  is  pro- 
fessedly expended  in  the  cause  of  Christ.  One  man,  a 
professor  of  religion,  and  in  fact  a  sincere  Christian,  is 
very  much  engaged  in  promoting  the  building  of  a 
church.  The  cause  of  Christ,  he  thinks,  requires  it. 
So  it  does,  and  so  will  the  value  of  his  property  be  in^ 
creased  by  its  being  placed  in  its  vicinity:  and  it  will 
require  a  great  deal  of  careful  self-examination,  for  him 
to  ascertain  in  precisely  what  proportion  these  two  mo- 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  266 

Double  motives.  Bad  principles  cultivated  by  religious  acts. 

tives  act  upon  him.  In  fact,  if  a  destroying  angel  were 
commissioned  to  pass  over  our  land,  and  apply  the  torch 
to  every  church  which  pride,  or  interest,  or  love  of 
honor  had  erected,  and  leave  those  only  which  are  the 
monuments  of  sincere  and  honest  love  to  the  Savior,  we 
tear  that  the  smoke  of  a  great  many  conflagrations  would 
ascend. 

In  the  same  manner,  a  minister  will  be  active  and  ar- 
dent in  his  efforts  to  awaken  religious  interest  among  his 
people;  or,  an  author  may  write  a  book,  ostensibly  to 
give  religious  instruction.  Now  they  both  may  be  led 
forward  in  their  work  by  a  desire  to  do  good;  but  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  very  same  success  which 
accomphshes  good  for  the  cause,  brings  honor  to  the 
laborer;  and  many  an  enterprising  and  zealous  workman 
will  find,  if  he  looks  honestly  at  his  heart,  that  the  world- 
ly feeling  has  far  more  than  its  fair  share  in  the  work. 

It  is  the  same  with  all  the  open  and  active  means  of 
endeavoring  to  promote  the  Savior's  cause.  There  is 
so  much  mingling  of  motives  in  them,  that  it  is  difficult 
to  tell,  in  many  cases,  whether  the  natural  or  the  renew- 
ed feelings  are  most  cultivated  by  such  efforts.  If  these 
things  are  done  in  the  right  spirit,  they  cultivate  that 
spirit; —  and  on  the  other  hand,  the  feelings  which  prompt 
them  are  strengthened,  if  they  are  wrong.  Bad  passions 
as  well  as  good,  thrive  under  the  influence  of  indulgence, 
and  consequently  the  very  same  act,  such  as  contributing 
money  for  any  religious  or  charitable  purpose,  may  be 
the  means  of  awakening  and  cherishing  in  the  heart  of 
the  Christian  who  makes  it,  love  to  God,  and  a  warm  de- 
sire for  the  salvation  of  men.  It  may  wean  him  from 
the  world,  and  link  him  to  his  Savior  by  a  bond  closer 
than  before.  On  the  other  hand,  it  may  give  the  reins 
to  selfishness  and  passion,  and  banish  spiritual  peace  and 
joy,  and  bring  back  the  soul  very  far  in  its  sad  return 
to  the  dominion  of  sin. 

23 


266  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Influence  of  the  heart  g^reater  than  liiat  of  the  conduct. 

It  is  therefore  unsafe  to  depend,  as  too  many  do,  on 
mere  Christian  action,  for  their  growth  in  grace.  It  is 
sometimes  unquestionably  wise,  to  turn  the  thoughts  of 
some  dejected  desponding  Christian  away  from  himself, 
in  the  hope  that  he  may  find  cheerfulness  and  enjoyment 
in  doing  work  for  his  Master.  It  is,  in  many  cases,  the 
very  best  advice  wliich  can  be  given.  Still  those  in- 
stances, though  many  in  the  aggregate,  are  individually 
rare.  In  all  ordinary  cases,  the  great  danger  is  the  other 
way, —  of  going  out  of  ourselves,  and  seeking  to  win 
God's  favor  by  the  bustle  of  what  we  call  Christian 
action,  while  the  passions  of  the  heart  remain  unsubdued, 
and  its  recesses  of  hidden  guilt,  unexplored.  It  is  a 
great  deal  easier,  with  hearts  such  as  ours,  to  give 
money,  or  to  erect  a  church,  or  to  exhort  in  a  religious 
assembly,  or  to  write  good  advice  for  others,  than  to 
come  and  humble  our  own  selves,  and  crucify  the  flesh 
with  its  affections  and  lusts. 

The  advantage  of  making  more  direct  and  special 
efforts  to  induce  Christians  to  cultivate  the  right  spirit  of 
piety,  than  to  induce  them  to  go  forward  in  Christian 
action,  is  manifest,  from  the  consideration,  that  warm 
piety  in  the  heart  will  almost  spontaneously  go  forth  into 
Christian  action,  whether  you  urge  it  on,  or  not:  but 
the  most  uninterrupted  and  energetic  Christian  action 
will  not  necessarily  produce  the  right  state  of  heart.  It 
may  only  foster  and  strengthen  the  bad  principles  of 
action  from  which  it  springs.  Besides,  the  light  of  a 
pure  and  honest  Christian  character  must  of  itself  do 
good  among  men.  It  exerts  an  influence  which  they 
cannot  but  feel,  and  it  is  an  influence,  far  more  powerful 
than  any  other.  Suppose  we  could  station  in  any  com- 
munity in  our  country,  a  little  band  o^ perfect  Christians, 
and  leave  them  there,  merely  as  specimens  of  the  practi- 
cal effects  of  Christianity.  Connect  them  by  the  ordi- 
nary pursuits  of  business,  with  the  mass  of  society,  but 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  267 

Holy  example.  Unholy  example.  The  latter  coramon. 

Cut  them  off,  if  you  please,  from  all  opportunity  to  make 
direct  efforts  to  inculcate  the  principles  of  religion  upon 
others.  What  an  effect  their  simple  presence  would 
produce!  Pure,  holy,  harmless  and  undefiled,  weaned 
entirely  from  this  world,  and  living  entirely  for  another. 
Hearts  warm  with  love  to  God,  and  ardent  affection  for 
one  another,  and  untiring  benevolence  towards  all  around 
ihem;  selfishness  gone, —  pride,  sensoriousness,  resent- 
ment, all  gone;  and  instead  of  the  base  passions  of  hu- 
man nature,  the  whole  soul  filled  with  the  noble  and  gen- 
erous and  exalted  sentiments  which  Christianity  tends  to 
inspire.  What  an  influence  would  be  exerted  by  such  a 
cliurch,  even  if  they  were  deprived  of  all  those  means 
of  influence  on  which  we  ordinarily  depend;  and  how 
different  would  it  be  in  its  nature,  from  that  which  is 
now  too  often  exerted,  in  the  towns  and  villages  of  our 
land,  by  those  who  have  in  charge  the  cause  of  the 
Savior  there.  The  minister,  cold  and  heartless, —  close 
and  selfish  in  his  dealings  during  the  week; — and  then 
preaching,  on  the  Sabbath,  in  the  performance  of  a  dull 
routine  of  duty,  or  to  gratify  the  vanity  of  rhetorical  or 
theological  display; — the  father  worldly  and  selfish, — 
devoted,  with  his  whole  soul,  to  the  work  of  making  a 
fortune, —  and  now  and  then  adding  his  name  to  a  sub- 
scription, to  keep  up  his  credit  as  a  benevolent  man,  or 
perhaps  to  get  rid  of  unpleasant  importunity; — and  a 
mother,  scolding  and  fretting  among  her  children  and 
domestics  all  the  morning,  and  then  decking  her  face 
in  assumed  and  heartless  smiles,  or  in  an  expression 
of  affected  solemnity,  to  go  to  a  religious  or  charitable 
meeting  in  the  afternoon.  My  description  may  seem 
unnecessarily  severe:  I  hope  it  is  so.  At  all  events, 
one  thing  is  certain,  that  Christians  cannot  hope  that 
God  will  bless  them,  and  prosper  his  cause  in  their 
hands,  unless  their  hearts  are  right,  and  their  efforts  in 
his  service  arc  made  from   honest  desires    to   promote 


868  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9 

II.  Personal  influence.  Its  ^-alue  as  a  means  of  doing  good. 

their  Savior^s  cause.  And  this  will  not  be  the  case,  un- 
less the  spirit  of  religion,  whicli  is  the  spirit  of  peace, 
love  and  joy,  reign  habitually  and  incessantly  at  home, 
as  well  as  abroad, — in  retirement  as  well  as  in  public: 
and  if  it  really  exists,  it  will  show  itself  as  certainly  in 
the  tone  and  manner  with  which  we  speak  to  our  chil- 
dren, or  bear  the  little  trials  of  every  day  life,  as  in  the 
most  public  acts  performed  in  the  face  of  the  world. 

If  then,  you  wish.  Christian,  to  do  any  thing  effectual 
for  the  Savior,  look  within:  labor  first  and  most  con- 
stantly with  your  own  heart,  so  that  the  light  of  pure  re- 
ligion may  beam  in  beauty  and  gentleness  there.  The 
world  around,  will  see  and  feel  its  moral  power.  Many 
will  be  led  by  it,  to  the  fountain  which  has  purified  you; 
they  will  follow  your  example,  they  will  imbibe  your 
spirit;  and  thus,  while  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
Savior  yourself,  you  will  in  the  most  efTectual  manner 
extend  his  kingdom. 

II. PERSONAL    INFLUENCE. 

Aim  at  acquiring  as  strong  a  personal  influence  as 
possible  over  others.  We  put  this  next  to  the  work  of 
securing  your  own  progress  in  holiness,  because  we  re- 
ally believe  it  stands  next.  The  man  whose  own  heart 
is  right  towards  God,  and  who  has  a  strong  influence 
over  others,  must  inevitably  do  a  great  deal  towards 
promoting  the  Savior's  cause.  He  may  in  many  cases 
mistake;  he  may  work  to  disadvantage;  but  he  has  the 
essentials,  and  to  a  great  extent  he  must  succeed.  But 
let  us  explain  what  we  mean  by  personal  influence. 

Here  are  two  Christians  equally  devoted  to  their  Mas- 
ter's cause.  One,  however,  feels  that  next  to  his  respon- 
sibility for  his  own  personal  character,  his  highest  trust 
is  his  direct  influence  over  others.  This  influence  he 
will  steadily  endeavor  both  to  preserve  and  to  increase. 
In  all  his  intercourse  with  others,  h^  endeavors  to  ao- 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  269 

The  contrast.  Repulsive  piety.  Its  bad  influence. 

quire  their  good  will.  To  find  his  way  to  their  hearts, 
his  benevolence  is  active,  practical,  operating  at  all 
times,  and  diffusing  enjoyment  all  around  him.  He  has 
regard  for  the  rights  and  for  the  feelings  of  others,  as 
well  as  for  his  own.  He  sympathizes  with  the  difficul- 
ties and  trials  of  those  who  are  connected  with  him;  and 
thus,  independently  of  the  light  which  his  character  sheds 
around  him,  he  is  the  object  of  strong  personal  regard. 

The  other  is  a  very  different  man.  He  cultivates  the 
spirit  of  piety,  and  bewails  his  sins  before  God.  He  is 
ready  to  make  even  great  sacrifice  to  do  good,  whenever 
the  opportunity  presents:  but  in  all  the  thousand  little 
connexions  which  bind  him  to  society,  he  seems  morose 
and  stern.  The  ordinary  kindnesses  and  courtesies  of 
life,  he  never  exhibits.  He  reserves  his  charity  for 
masses  of  men,  and  his  benevolence  for  great  occasions. 
In  all  the  ordinary  dealings,  in  which  he  becomes  con- 
nected from  day  to  day  with  his  fellows,  he  is  harsh  and 
unconciliating;  firm  in  the  defence  of  all  his  rights,  and 
inflexible  in  resisting  every  injury.  He  means  to  do 
what  is  right;  but  on  the  line  which  his  eye  marks  out 
as  the  line  of  rectitude,  he  stands  iirm  and  perpendic- 
ular. He  ought  to  stand  thus  on  the  line  .of  rectitude 
in  respect  to  moral  principle,  but  not  on  that  of  justice,  in 
regard  to  his  own  interests.  He  never  sympathizes  with 
those  who  are  dependant  upon  him.  They  find  that  he 
does  not  think  of  their  temptations,  or  feel  for  the  trials 
they  have  to  bear.  If  they  are  sick,  he  relieves  their 
wants  perhaps,  with  cold  propriety,  but  gives  no  evi- 
dence of  compassion,  or  of  real  good  will. 

Now  with  the  same  degree  of  piety,  if  it  is  possible  for 
the  piety  to  be  the  same  in  two  such  cases,  and  with  the 
same  degree  of  wealth,  and  with  the  same  influence  of 
standing,  how  different  will  be  the  amount  of  service 
which  these  two  individuals  can  render  to  their  Master. 
The  one  is  connected,  by  the  closest  ties,  to  many  human 
23* 


270  THE    CORNER-STONE,  [Ch.  9. 

The  fault  genorally  incurable.  Unbound  logic. 

hearts;  and  his  sentiments,  his  feelings,  his  spirit  are 
insensibly  and  continually  adopted  by  all  around  him. 
His  light  shines  and  allures.  The  other,  not  only  can 
do  no  good,  but  he  is  constantly  but  insensibly  doing 
harm.  The  world  around  consider  his  character  as 
illustrating  the  natural  tendencies  of  religion.  Many 
cases  have  occurred,  where  a  Christian  of  wealth  and 
public  influence  has  had  such  a  character  that  a  whole 
community  has  been  seared  in  conscience,  and  alienated 
from  the  truth,  by  the  associations  which  such  a  specta- 
cle constantly  before  their  eyes  has  led  them  to  form. 
They  would  have  disliked  the  purity  and  spirituality  of 
religion  without  this,  but  they  are  led  by  it  to  dishke  it 
still  more.  They  are  driven  farther  and  farther  away 
from  God,  by  means  of  the  influence  of  one  of  his  friends. 

Such  characters,  too,  when  once  formed,  seem  to  be 
incurable;  for  as  every  mad  projector  defends  himself 
against  the  most  convincing  proofs  of  the  wildness  ami 
impracticability  of  his  schemes,  by  recollecting  the  op- 
position and  incredulity  which  Columbus  had  to  contend 
with,  so  do  these  Christians  consider  every  difliculty 
they  incur,  and  every  feeling  of  opposition  which  they 
awaken  in  others,  as  proofs  of  their  fidelity  in  the  cause 
of  their  Master.  "  He  that  lives  godly,  will  sufl^er  per- 
secution," says  the  apostle;  but  they  read  it  the  other 
way.  All  that  suffer  persecution  must  certainly  be  godly. 
Not  very  sound  logic,  the  impartial  reader  will  say:  but 
any  logic  is  sound  enough  to  convince,  when  it  is  offered 
by  interest  or  pride. 

It  is  the  duty  then  of  every  individual,  who  wishes  to 
obey  the  Savior's  dying  command,  and  in  obedience  to 
it,  to  assist  his  ]\Iaster  in  spreading  the  reign  of  piety 
among  men,  to  take  care  of  his  personal  influence. 

A  very  large  number  of  the  readers  of  this  work  will 
however,  in  all  probability,  attempt  to  place  themselves 
out  of  the  reach  of  all  these  remarks,  by  saying  to  thera- 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  27l 

SupfMjsed  want  of  influeoce.  Extent  and  power  of  influence. 

selves;  "  This  is  all  very  true,  but  it  does  not  apply  to 
me.  I  have  no  influence,  and  from  the  very  circunv- 
stances  in  which  Providence  has  placed  me,  I  cannot 
have  any." 

While  such  readers  have  been  perusing  the  preceding 
paragraphs,  their  thoughts  have  been  fixed  upon  some 
influential  individuals  whom  they  could  call  to  mind,  and 
they  have  considered  these  remarks  as  applicable  only 
to  them,  or  to  persons  placed,  like  them,  in  stations  of 
trust  and  responsibility  in  the  service  of  God.  Perhaps 
some  one  who  reads  this,  may  wish  he  could  apply  the 
remarks  to  himself.  Sometimes,  perhaps,  in  your  hour 
of  devotion,  when  your  heart  is  warmed  by  reflecting 
what  the  Savior  has  done  for  you,  you  sigh  to  reflect 
how  little  you  can  do  in  return.  You  wish  you  had 
some  public  or  general  influence  which  you  might  devote 
to  the  cause  of  the  Savior.  But  you  are  alone;  your 
sphere  of  duty  is  limited  to  the  little  spot  hi  which  you 
move  from  day  to  day,  with  very  little  influence  over 
other  minds,  so  that  even  when  you  wish  to  do  good,  it 
seems  scarcely  in  your  power. 

This  feeling  is  one  which  very  extensively  prevails; 
but  it  is  founded  upon  an  entire  mistake  in  regard  to  the 
nature  of  the  influence  which  may  be  made  most  valua- 
ble for  the  purpose  of  promoting  the  Savior's  cause. 
You  think  you  have  no  influence.  You  have  a  very 
powerful  influence.  It  is  not  extensive,  but  it  is  power- 
ful, and  this  distinction  you  overlook.  Let  us  consider 
it  a  little. 

The  chief  magistrate  of  a  populous  city  has  an  exten- 
sive influence.  It  reaches  a  great  many  minds.  His 
plans  and  his  measures  promote  or  injure  the  interests  of 
thousands.  They  are  discussed,  and  approved  or  con- 
demned, in  many  a  little  group,  and  thus,  out  of  all  the 
multitudes  around  him,  there  are  very  few  who  do  not 
know  his  name,  at  least,  if  they  do  not  hear  of  his  doings 


272  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

The  chief  magistrute.  The  two  sisters.  Mutual  iniluence. 

The  influence  of  what  passes  in  that  one  man's  naiad, 
extends,  in  this  way,  to  tens  of  thousands.  But  after  all, 
bis  official  influence  is  not  very  powerful  in  any  individ- 
ual case.  In  the  aggregate,  it  is  very  powerful, —  but  it 
is  an  aggregate  made  up  of  very  small  items.  Select 
from  among  the  multitudes  with  whom  he  is  daily  thrown 
into  connexion,  the  one  to  whom  he  is  bound  most  closely, 
— over  whom  he  has  the  greatest  ascendency;  and  how 
great  an  ascendency  is  it?  Why,  it  is  a  tie  of  business. 
It  is  the  influence  of  a  slight  interest  in  common,  and 
the  chain  will  remain  just  so  long  as  the  business  and 
the  common  interest  retain  their  hold.  The  power  of 
heart  over  heart,  in  such  a  case,  is  very  small.  The 
man,  from  the  eminence  on  which  he  is  placed,  holds  a 
slight  control,  a  feeble  influence,  over  many  thousands 
We  gaze  at  the  greatness  of  it,  in  amount,  and  forget 
how  feeble  it  is  in  detail.  The  very  child,  returning  from 
school  with  Ihe  companion  of  his  studies  and  his  plays, 
holds  an  ascendency  and  a  control  over  the  heart,  to  a 
degree  which  the  statesman  or  the  magistrate  never  ob- 
tains. Now  it  is  influence  over  the  heart,  which  is  to  be 
made  effectual  in  making  friends  for  the  Savior. 

Suppose  that  two  obscure  and  solitary  individuals  live 
together  in  a  retired  dwelling  among  the  mountains. 
Their  pursuits,  their  interests,  their  joys  and  sorrows  are 
common.  If  one  is  cheerful  and  happy,  the  light  of  her 
smile  is  reflected  upon  the  countenance  of  the  other. 
If  one  is  gloomy,  or  impatient,  or  sad,  the  sympathy 
which  years  have  cherished,  transfers  the  emotion  to  the 
bosom  of  the  other.  However  dissimilar  in  disposition 
and  character  they  may  have  been  in  youth,  every  dif- 
ference is  gradually  diminished  or  destroyed.  They 
come  to  be  interested  in  the  same  pursuits,  to  ffear  the 
same  evils,  and  to  have  every  wish  and  every  emotion 
common.  This  process  of  assimilation  goes  on  till  the 
last, —  and  when  one  of  them  at  length  lies  down  in  the 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING   COMMAND.  273 

Powerful  but  not  extensive.  The  child  and  his  little  brother. 

grave,  the  other  is  left  to  mourn  the  loss,  with  a  feeling 
of  irretrievable  bereavement,  to  which  human  life  can 
hardly  afford  a  parallel. 

This,  now,  is  a  powerful  influence; — but  it  is  not  an 
extensive  one.  The  influence  of  each  could  extend 
only  to  the  other.  The  world  around  was  nothing  to 
them.  And  what  is  peculiar  in  this  case  is,  that  tire 
greatness  of  the  ascendency  would  depend,  most  of  all, 
upon  the  very  fact  that  the  rest  of  mankind  were  remov- 
ed beyond  their  reach.  The  fact  that  they  were  nothing 
to  all  the  world,  was  the  very  reason  why  they  were  so 
much  to  one  another.  And  it  is  so  with  us  all.  The 
more  a  man's  influence  is  extended  and  diffused,  the 
more  is  it  ordinarily  weakened,  in  its  bearing  upon  in- 
dividuals. The  public  officer,  who  reaches  a  hundred 
thousand  minds,  reaches  them  all  feebly;  and  if  you  wish 
to  find  an  example  of  the  highest  power  exerted  by  one 
heart  over  another,  you  must  seek  it  in  the  case  of  some 
one  secluded  from  the  world,  and  engaged  in  a  round  of 
duties,  which  bring  him  into  contact  with  but  few. 

We  may  go  farther  than  this,  and  say  that  there  is' 
scarcely  an  example  of  influence  to  be  found,  so  power- 
ful as  that  exerted  by  a  little  child  just  old  enough  to 
talk,  over  his  little  brother  or  sister  a  year  or  two  young- 
er than  itself.  He  is  in  all  things  its  leader  and  guide 
and  oracle:  with  perhaps  more  power  over  its  heart, 
than  the  world  exhibits  in  any  other  case.  The  little 
learner  follows  and  imitates  his  superior,  in  almost  every 
thing.  He  goes  wherever  his  companion  leads, —  and 
mimics  all  his  actions, —  and  repeats,  in  his  imperfect 
and  broken  articulation,  all  his  words;  and  he  is  thus 
led  forward  to  almost  all  his  knowledge,  and  guided,  in 
almost  the  whole  formation  of  his  character,  by  a  child, 
only  a  little  older  than  himself,  and  who  is  almost  en- 
tirely unconscious  of  the  influence  he  is  thus  exerting 
over  an  immortal  mind 


874  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9, 

None  too  young  lo  do  good.  Influence  over  brotliers  und-sistera^ 

Such  is  the  distinction  between  the  extent,  and  the  in- 
dividual power  of  influence,  and  it  does  not  require  much 
reasoning  to  show  which  is  most  efficient  as  a  means  of 
promoting  the  salvation  of  souls.  Piety  is  a  feeling  of 
the  heart,  and  he  who  would  promote  it,  must  gain  access 
to  the  heart.  Consequently,  the  more  direct  the  access, 
in  the  individvial  case,  the  greater  is  the  prospect  of 
success.  A  Christian  laborer  who  is  employed  day  after 
day  by  an  irreligious  man,  has  a  far  greater  influence 
over  him  in  a  religious  point  of  view,  than  the  chief 
magistrate  of  the  country  can  have.  The  laborer  must 
have  a  great  influence,  in  the  formation  of  the  religious 
character  of  his  employer.  If  he  is  gentle  and  benevo- 
lent, and  of  unbending  integrity  and  faithfulness,  and  if 
it  appears  that  these  traits  of  character  spring  from  his 
Christian  principle,  the  example  thus  set,  will  speak  with 
an  eloquence  which  words  can  seldom  equal. 

Perhaps  this  chapter  is  read  by  some  one  who  has  been 
accustomed  to  consider  himself  too  young  to  do  any  good. 
You  look  around  you,  and  see  others  enjoying  opportu- 
nities of  making  direct  efforts  in  the  Savior's  cause,  and 
you  think  that  if  you  could  enjoy  such  a  privilege,  you 
would  highly  prize  it.  "  Had  I  but  a  class  in  a  sabbath 
school,"  you  say,  "  how  happy  should  I  be,  to  endeavor 
to  lead  my  pupils  to  the  Savior." 

You  have  not,  indeed,  a  class  in  the  sabbath  school, 
but  you  have  a  little  sister  who  is  infinitely  more  under 
your  influence,  than  any  class  of  sabbath  school  children 
could  be.  You  would  see  them  only  on  the  sabbath, 
and  then  but  for  an  hour, —  that  too,  in  a  crowded  room, 
and  among  multitudes  of  strangers.  Your  brother  or 
your  sister,  however,  is  with  you  every  day.  They 
come  to  you  for  assistance  in  a  thousand  difficulties,  and 
for  guidance  in  all  their  perplexities  and  cares.  You 
can  see  them  at  all  times;  you  can  watch  for  opportu- 
nities to  interest  and  attract  them;  you  can  help  them  to 


Ch.  9.]  THE   PARTING    COMMAND.  275 

Every  Christian  has  an  influence.  Effect  of  universal  fidelity. 

forsake  their  sins,  and  to  watch  against  temptation,  by 
being  at  all  times  at  hand;  and  above  all,  you  can  set 
them  a  constant  example  of  the  power  of  piety  in  making 
your  own  conduct  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  your  own 
heart  peaceful  and  happy.  Now  the  influence  which 
you  thus  may  possess,  is  altogether  greater  than  you 
could  have  as  a  Sabbath  school  teacher.  It  is  not  so 
extensive,  but  it  is  more  powerful  in  the  individual  case, 
and  this  is  what  is  to  be  considered  in  judging  of  the 
opportunity  you  have  to  do  good.  Improve  first,  the 
little  field  which  Providence  has  put  so  entirely  into  your 
hand,  before  you  look  forward  to  wider  spheres. 

There  is  not  now  a  Christian  on  the  globe  who  has 
not  a  very  powerful  influence  of  the  kind  which  I  have 
described,  over  one,  two  or  more  minds  around  him. 
Providence  has  placed  us  all,  in  connexion  with  our 
fellow  beings,  in  such  a  way  that  we  must  exert  a  great 
influence  upon  the  formation  of  their  characters.  The 
power  which  we  thus  hold,  is  far  greater  than  we  sup- 
pose, and  until  all  within  the  circle  of  our  acquaintance, 
however  narrow  that  circle  may  be,  are  devoted  and 
happy  Christians,  we  must  never  say,  and  never  feel 
that  God  has  placed  us  in  circumstances  in  which  we 
have  nothing  to  do  for  him. 

It  is  on  these  principles,  and  for  such  purposes, 
that  every  individual  Christian  should  labor  to  deepen 
and  extend  the  influence  in  his  hands;  and  it  is  by 
means  of  this,  mainly,  that  he  is  to  aim  at  building  up 
the  Savior's  kingdom.  If  every  one  would  be  faithful, 
in  the  sphere  in  which  Providence  has  placed  him,  the 
most  astonishing  effects  would  be  immediately  witnessed. 
Suppose  every  Christian  were  to  come  up  at  once  to  his 
duty  as  a  follower  of  Christ,  renounce  the  world  en- 
tirely, search  his  heart,  and  cultivate,  by  every  means 
in   his   power,  his   own   spiritual  progress, —  and  then 


276  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Future  spread  of  the  gospel.  Tlie  church  the  pillar  of  the  truth. 

devote  himself  to  the  work  of  doing  good  in  the  narrow 
sphere  of  his  own  personal  inlluence.  There  would  be 
no  splendid  conquests  achieved  by  any  one;  but  by  the 
united  efforts  of  all,  the  work  would  go  on  with  universal 
and  almost  inconceivable  power.  No  one  who  knows 
the  effect  of  holiness,  when  it  appears  in  living  and  act- 
ing reality,  in  arresting  attention  and  alarming  the  con- 
science, and  in  winning  those  who  witness  it,  to  penitence 
and  faith,  can  doubt  that  each  individual  who  should  thus 
live  might  hope  to  be  the  means  of  bringing  one,  two, 
three,  or  four,  every  year,  to  the  service  of  his  Master: 
and  to  double  or  treble  or  quadruple  the  church  in  a  year, 
would  be  progress  which  would  soon  change  the  face  of 
things  in  such  a  world  as  this. 

This  is  the  way  undoubtedly,  that  the  principles  of  the 
gospel  are  ultimately  to  spread  in  the  world:  through 
the  influence  of  the  lives  and  efforts  of  private  Christians. 
I  speak  of  course,  now,  of  those  countries  where  Chris- 
tianity has  nominal  possession.  Private  Christians  look 
far  too  much  away  from  themselves,  to  ministers  and 
missionaries  and  bibles,  and  tracts,  and  imagine,  that 
their  business  is  merely  to  sustain  the  efforts  made 
through  these  means.  The  far  more  valuable  and  power- 
ful influences,  which  might  be  brought  to  bear  upon  a 
world  lying  in  sin,  from  the  light  of  religion  in  the  hearts 
and  lives  of  the  great  mass  of  believers,  is  lost  sight  of, 
and  forgotten.  But  it  is  the  church  which  is  the  pillar 
and  ground  of  the  truth.  It  is  the  great  mass  of  disciples, 
which  are  the  light  of  the  world.  Or  rather  it  is  they 
who  ought  to  be;  for  a  cold  and  worldly  church,  instead 
of  being  the  pillar  of  the  truth,  is  a  millstone  about  its 
neck.  Instead  of  casting  around  them  the  beams  of 
heavenly  light,  its  members  shed  abroad  a  darkness  and 
a  gloom  which  there  is  nothing  to  dispel. 

Be  careful  then,  not  only  to  watch  your  own  progress 
in  piety,  but  to  seek  influence  over  your  fellow  men, — 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  277 

III.  Study  of  human  nature.  Mistakes  often  made. 

the  influence  of  heart  over  heart;  and  as  far  as  you  secure 
it,  consecrate  it  all,  honestly  and  sincerely  to  the  cause 
of  Christ. 

ni.  —  THE    STUDY    OP    HUMAN   NATURE. 

Carefully  study  the  powers  and  tendencies  of  the  hu- 
man soul,  especially  in  its  religious  aspects,  and  be  pre- 
pared to  act  intelligently  in  all  that  you  do,  in  attempting 
to  influence  the  heart.  Most  sad  mistakes  are  made  in 
this  respect,  by  many  religious  men,  who  make  efibrts 
blindly,  and  without  consideration,  as  if  they  imagined 
that  religious  truth  was  to  accomplish  its  object  by  some 
mere  mechanical  power  which  it  possesses,  and  as  if  it 
were  of  no  consequence  how  it  is  applied. 

In  order  to  avoid  this  evil,  it  is  necessary  to  consider, 
before  we  attempt  to  act  upon  any  heart,  what  is  the  real 
effect  which  we  wish  to  produce  upon  it,  and  then  to 
adapt  our  means  to  the  production  of  the  effect.  Many 
persons  err  most  grossly  in  this  respect.  A  teacher,  for 
example,  offers  a  prize  to  be  awarded  to  the  pupil  who  will 
commit  to  memory  the  greatest  number  of  verses  in  the 
Bible.  Emulation  and  jealous  rivalry  immediately  take 
possession  of  the  class,  and  reign  supreme.  But  the 
verses  are  committed.  The  boys  are  indefatigable  in 
their  eflbrts,  and  if  committing  verses  in  the  Bible  was 
the  ultimate  object  in  view,  and  was  to  be  accomplished 
at  any  sacrifice,  the  plan  might  be  considered  triumphant- 
ly successful.  But  committing  passages  of  Scripture  is 
not  the  end:  it  is  only  the  means  to  an  end.  That  end 
is  the  moral  renewal  of  the  heart,  and  it  is  defeated  en- 
tirely by  the  mode  taken  to  secure  it. 

Again,  a  religious  man  goes  to  converse  with  an  unbe- 
liever. I  do  not  mean  one  who  openly  rejects  Christiani- 
ty as  a  whole,  but  who  denies  its  fundamental  truths,  and 
lives  in  sin,  sheltered  by  his  unbelief.  Now  the  proper 
object  of  a  conversation  with  him  is  not  to  convince  his 

24 


378  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Example  uf  Paul.  His  preaching.  M istakes  of  Christiana. 

intellect,  but  to  awaken  his  conscience.  The  difficulty 
is  not  with  the  understanding,  hut  with  the  heart;  and 
instead  of  wasting  time  in  a  fruitless  attempt,  by  argu- 
ment, to  force  upon  his  mind  evidence  which  he  is  fully 
determined  not  to  see,  the  true  policy  is  to  bring  up, 
gently  but  clearly,  questions  of  duty,  based  on  what  he 
admits  to  be  true. 

The  Apostle  Paul  understood  this  principle,  and  prac- 
tised upon  it  most  perfectly.  He  adapted  his  discourses 
most  adroitly  to  the  condition  and  wants  of  his  auditory. 
When  he  reasoned  before  Felix,  it  was  upon  righteous- 
ness, temperance,  and  judgment  to  come;  topics  which 
his  distinguished  hearer  could  appreciate  and  understand. 
He  based  his.  addresses  to  the  Jews  on  the  sentiments 
of  their  own  Scriptures.  At  Athens  he  endeavored  to 
awaken  the  conscience  by  appealing  to  the  i^ew  simple 
truths  which  his  hearers  there  could  not  deny;  and 
in  his  epistles  to  the  Christian  church,  he  went  at  once 
into  all  the  sublime  and  mysterious  truths  which  are  re- 
vealed by  the  full  light  of  the  Christian  dispensation. 
He  studied  human  nature,  and  adapted  what  he  had  to 
say  to  the  moral  condition  and  wants  of  those  whom  he 
addressed;  always  making  it  his  great  object  to  awaken 
the  slumbering  conscience  by  the  highest  truths  which 
his  audience  were  prepared  to  understand. 

In  their  efforts  to  promote  the  cause  of  religion,  Chris- 
tians often  act  as  if  they  imagined  that  the  great  object 
was  to  bring  truth  before  the  mind,  whereas  the  real 
difficulty  is  to  gain  influence  for  what  is  already  there. 
The  work  which  we  have  to  do  is  to  touch  the  heart,  not 
to  pour  cold  light  upon  the  mind.  Now  to  awaken 
warm  feeling  in  the  heart  is  unquestionably  the  j)rovince 
of  the  spirit  of  God.  We  cannot  effect  it  alone,  but  we 
may  adapt  our  efforts  to  this  design,  and  at  all  events, 
we  may  so  manage  them,  as  not  to  thwart  or  oppose 
it.     The  reverse  is  often  the  fact.     Many  and  many  a 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  279 

Guides  in  the  study.  The  Bible.  Observation.  Books. 

time  is  religious  truth  presented  to  a  mind  in  such  a  way, 
and  accompanied  by  such  attending  circumstances,  as 
to  destroy  its  effect.  The  various  ways  by  which  this  is 
done  cannot  in  such  a  chapter  as  this,  be  pointed  out. 
What  we  wish  is  to  put  the  Christian  on  his  guard,  that 
he  may  watch  his  plans  and  methods,  and  see  that  he 
does  not  defeat  his  own  designs. 

The  proper  guides,  in  such  a  study  of  the  human  heart, 
are  the  Bible  and  observation,  not  theoretical  books. 
Perhaps  a  very  large  proportion  of  those  who  make 
human  character  a  study  at  all,  go  first  to  theoretical 
writers  for  general  views,  and  then  just  look  into  the 
conduct  of  men  for  the  mere  purpose  of  finding  illustra- 
tions or  proofs  of  them.  They  never  go  into  the  field  as 
independent  observers,  ready  to  notice  whatever  they 
may  see,  and  to  leave  it  to  tell  its  own  plain  story.  Cer- 
tain facts,  which  accord  with  their  adopted  theories,  stand 
out  in  bold  and  prominent  relief,  while  others  are  over- 
looked or  forgotten:  or  if  they  are  too  conspicuous  to  be 
completely  disregarded,  they  are  warped  and  twisted  to 
suit  the  false  conceptions  of  the  mind.  Such  a  course 
besides  fixing  error,  is  an  insurmountable  barrier  to  pro- 
giess.  We  notice  and  speculate  upon  human  conduct 
just  so  far  as  the  ground  is  covered  by  our  theological 
or  metaphysical  opinions,  and  beyond  that  we  do  not  go. 

Books,  and  the  opinions  of  great  men  on  human  na- 
ture, may  perhaps  be  guides,  but  they  never  should  be 
tiammels  and  barriers.  The  field  of  observation  is  open 
before  all;  and  Christianity,  while  it  gives  us  the  noblest 
work  to  do,  gives  us  also  the  loftiest  science  to  study. 
It  puts,  too,  all  the  means  and  opportunities  for  observa- 
tion fully  before  us,  and  says  in  spirit,  *'  You  have  a 
world  of  mind  around  you,  open  to  your  influence  and 
accessible  to  your  observation.  Make  it  your  great 
study  to  understand  it,  and  your  great  work  to  bring  it 
home  to  God." 


280  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   9. 

Theories.  Theological  notion*.  Want  of  Bkill. 


In  regard,  however,  to  the  study  of  human  nature,  the 
difficuhy  with  most  persons  is  not  (liat  they  do  not  make 
any  observations  of  their  own,  but  they  do  not  connect 
the  resuhs  they  obtain  by  such  observation,  with  their 
rehgious  knowledjre.  Most  men  have  in  fact  two  entire- 
ly distinct  and  independent  sets  of  ideas  in  regard  to 
human  character.  One,  obtained  from  metaj)hysical  and 
theological  speculations,  and  the  other  from  their  own 
intercourse  with  men  in  the  common  business  and  pur- 
suits of  life.  These  two  classes  of  ideas  too,  they  keep 
distinct  and  separate.  On  the  sabbath,  and  when  reading 
religious  books,  or  thinking  of  the  human  soul  in  its 
theological  aspects  and  relations,  they  take  one  view, 
and  in  the  ordinary  business  of  life  they  take  another; 
and  the  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  the  skill  in 
influencing  it  which  men  so  easily  acquire  in  the  latter 
case,  very  rarely  extends  itself  to  the  former.  It  ac- 
cordingly very  often  happens,  that  a  man  will  display  an 
unusual  share  of  discrimination  and  delicacy  of  touch,  so 
to  speak,  in  operating  on  the  minds  around  him  in  re- 
spect to  the  common  affairs  of  the  community,  or  to 
opinions  and  customs  relating  to  ordinary  life,  while  he 
is  awkward,  rough,  and  unsuccessful  in  every  thing  like 
the  exertion  of  religious  influence.  Here,  he  seems  to 
act  on  new  and  independent  principles.  He  throws  all 
the  knowledge  and  skill  which  had  proved  itself  so  valu- 
able in  the  other  case,  utterly  aside,  and  proceeds,  if 
indeed  he  proceeds  at  all,  in  a  blind,  mechanical,  and 
formal  manner,  which  is  as  unsuccessful  in  religion,  as  it 
would  be  in  any  thing  else. 

In  truth,  a  great  portion  of  the  religious  community 
would  acknowledge,  if  they  would  be  honest,  that  they 
do  not  consider  the  exertion  of  religious  influence  as 
coming  under  the  ordinary  rules  which  should  regulate 
the  action  of  mind  upon  mind.  They  justly  attribute  all 
hope  of  final  success  to  a  divine  influence  upon  the  heart; 


Ch.   9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  281 

Careful  study  necessary.  I  v.  Use  of  property. 

but  this,  though  it  assigns  a  large  part  of  the  work  to  a 
higher  power,  does  not  at  ail  alter  the  nature  of  the  other 
part  of  it,  which  remains  committed  to  us.  We  should 
always  consider  then,  when  making  any  efforts  to  bring 
a  friend  or  a  neighbor  or  a  child  to  God,  whether  we 
should  take  a  similar  course,  or  at  least  one  based  on 
similar  principles,  or  similar  views  of  human  nature,  to 
accomplish  any  other  change  in  his  feelings  or  conduct. 
Be  careful  also  to  make  every  experiment  and  effort,  a 
means  of  increasing  your  stock  of  knowledge  of  the 
human  mind,  and  of  its  tendencies  and  movements  in 
respect  to  religious  feeling.  Watch  the  operation  of 
causes  and  the  nature  of  effects.  Look  into  the  Bible 
for  a  standard  of  religious  duty,  and  for  correct  views  of 
the  nature  and  obligation  of  God's  law;  and  then  look 
into  the  wide  field  of  action  and  character,  which  is  de- 
veloping itself  all  around  you,  and  seek  practical  knowlege 
of  man  there.  When  you  fail  of  producing  a  desired 
effect,  investigate  the  cause  of  your  failure;  when  causes 
from  which  you  would  have  looked  for  one  result,  pro- 
duce a  different  or  a  contrary  one,  examine  the  case  and 
ascertain  the  difficulty.  When  success  attends  your 
efforts,  analyze  them  with  care,  to  discover  what  were 
the  essential  conditions  of  success.  In  this  way,  you 
cannot  but  make  progress,  and  it  is  not  at  all  necessary 
that  acting  thus  faithfully  and  skilfully  in  doing  your 
work,  should  lead  you  at  all  to  undervalue  the  necessity 
of  most  efficient  and  continued  help  from  above. 

IV. USE    OF    PROPERTY. 

The  Christian  religion  takes  higher  ground  in  respect 
to  human  duty  than  any  pretended  message  from  heaven 
ever  dared  to  assume,  and  it  makes  claims,  which  for 
boldness  and  authority  stand  entirely  without  a  parallel. 
Its  theory  is  substantially  this.  That  it  is  the  great 
design  of  Jehovah  to  establish  an  universal  kingdom  of 
24* 


282  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Claims  of  Cliristianily.  Cuininon  question. 

benevolence,  and  conscqiient  happin3ss: — ^that  this  king- 
dom has  heon,  in  this  world,  overturned  and  destroyed; 
and  tliat  all  who  wish  its  restoration  are  to  come  and 
give  themselves  wholly  to  the  work  of  promoting  it.  He 
does  not  require  men  to  devote  a  part  of  their  time, 
and  a  part  of  their  property  to  his  purposes,  leaving 
them  to  employ  the  rest  for  themselves.  He  claims  the 
whole, —  or  rather  he  invites  men  to  come  and  conse- 
crate the  whole  to  the  work  of  co-operation  with  him. 
He  allows  no  distinction  between  his  property  and  ours. 
He  makes  no  specification  of  the  amount  of  time,  or  the 
extent  of  influence,  which  we  should  devote  to  his  cause: 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  most  distinctly  says,  that  as 
he  is  devoting  all  his  energies,  and  employing  all  his 
time,  in  the  promotion  of  universal  holiness  and  happi- 
ness, he  expects  all  who  wish  to  be  considered  on  his 
side  to  come  and  devote  all  theirs  to  this  work  too. 

The  question  is  very  often  asked,  "  What  proportion 
of  a  man's  income  ought  to  be  devoted  to  charitable  pur- 
poses?" But  the  question  itself  seems  to  rest  on  an 
entire  misconception  of  the  nature  of  the  claim  which 
God  makes  upon  men.  It  may  have  either  of  two 
meanings.  In  the  first  place,  the  inquirer  may  mean  to 
ask,  what  proportion  of  his  means  of  doing  good  in  this 
world,  ought  to  be  devoted  to  his  Master's  service,  and 
what  to  his  own: — or,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  mean 
tjiis: — when  all  that  a  man  has,  is  consecrated  to  God, 
what  proportion  of  his  means  of  influence  should  he  em- 
ploy himself,  and  what  portion  should  he  commit  to  others 
to  employ,  for  it  will  be  seen  by  a  very  slight  examina- 
tion, that  when  money  is  given  for  a  charitable  purpose, 
it  is  generally  a  method  of  sustaining  others  in  the  work 
of  doing  good.  Now  in  the  first  of  these  two  significa- 
tions, the  question  is  evidently  based  on  erroneous 
views.  God  will  admit  of  no  such  division  of  the  heart, 
Bor  of  the  powers  of  his  creatures.     In  the  second,  the 


Ch.   9. J  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  283 

Case  supposed.  The  rude  Islanders.  Ways  of  reaching  theia. 

question  must  be  unanswerable;  that  is,  it  can  receive  no 
general  answer,  for  the  courses  to  be  taken  in  respect 
to  it,  are  as  various  as  the  conditions  and  circumstances 
of  men. 

But  let  us  analyze  a  little  more  accurately  the  real 
nature  of  doing  good  by  means  of  money.  It  is  called 
giving,  but  strictly  speaking  it  is  not  giving.  It  is  sim- 
ply a  combination  of  men  in  one  place,  to  produce  a 
certain  moral  effect  in  another;  and  money  is  made  use 
of,  as  the  mere  instrument  by  which  the  object  is  accom- 
plished. This  we  shall  easily  see,  by  looking  at  a  par- 
ticular case. 

To  make  the  reasoning  the  more  simple,  we  will  sup- 
pose a  case  which  would  never  precisely  occur,  but  we 
can  easily  apply  the  principles  which  it  illustrates,  to 
ordinary  instances.  We  will  suppose  that,  on  some 
rude  and  inhospitable  coast,  remote  from  the  fertile  and 
wealthy  regions  of  the  civilized  world,  there  is  a  com- 
munity of  hardy  settlers,  who  are  devoted  and  consis- 
tent Christians.  They  enjoy  religious  privileges  them- 
selves, and  at  length  they  form  the  wish  to  do  something 
for  the  ignorant  und  vicious  inhabitants  of  a  small  island, 
a  few  miles  from  their  coast.  They  are  themselves  de- 
pendent upon  their  daily  exertions,  for  their  daily  bread, 
and  consequently,  though  they  can  all,  besides  discharg- 
ing the  duties  they  owe  to  their  families,  and  to  the  poor 
around  them,  find  an  hour  or  two  in  each  day,  which 
they  can  devote  to  God's  service  in  some  foreign  field, 
no  one  of  them  can  gain  time  enough  to  go  away  from 
home,  to  visit  the  destitute  islanders.  Now  there  are 
evidently  two  ways  by  which  they  can  surmount  the 
difficulty.  Any  one  of  them  can  lay  by  the  proceeds 
of  his, labor  during  those  hours  which  are  not  required 
in  the  discharge  of  his  duties  at  home,  until  he  has 
accumulated  stores  sufficient  to  supply  his  family  and 
himself  during  a  visit  to  the  island.     The  other  plan  is, 


284  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Various  plans.  Co-operation.  Money. 

for  all  to  combine,  and  send  one  of  tlieir  number,  by  unit- 
ing their  labors,  during  those  extra  hours,  and  thus  find- 
ing support  for  the  one  who  was  absent.  Let  us  sup- 
pose the  latter  plan  to  be  adopted;  and  to  make  the  case 
more  distinct,  we  will  imagine  that  one  particular  hour 
is  assigned  at  which  all  who  rcnmin  at  home,  shall  be  at 
work  for  the  family  of  the  one  who  was  selected  to  go. 
When  the  hour  arrives,  the  missionary  is  perhaps  at  the 
island,  explaining  to  the  inhabitants  the  nature  of  reli- 
gion, and  the  claims  of  duty,  and  his  friends  and  neigh- 
bors at  home  are  each  in  his  own  little  garden,  laboring 
to  provide  food  and  clothing  for  their  absent  brother  and 
for  his  lonely  family.  They  are  all  at  work  together, 
and  in  one  common  cause.  They  are  not,  indeed,  all  in 
immediate  connexion  with  the  souls  whose  benefit  is  the 
object  of  the  enterprise,  but  they  who  are  at  home, 
laboring  to  sustain  the  absent  one,  are  as  really  and 
effectually  operating  upon  the  distant  island,  as  he  who 
has  gone.  They  are  all  engaged  in  one  common  enter- 
prise, for  the  promotion  of  God's  cause,  each  doing  his 
assigned  part.  Neither  is  giving  to  the  other, —  unless 
indeed  he  who  goes  can  claim  some  gratitude  from  the 
rest,  for  having  assumed  the  severer  and  more  trying 
portion. 

JVow  money  is  only  a  representative  of  the  proceeds  of 
labor,  and  if,  instead  of  sending  out  to  their  missionary, 
the  provision  and  clothing  which  he  would  need  when 
engaged  in  his  enterprise,  his  Christian  Iriends  at  home 
should  convert  those  provisions  and  clothing  into  the 
form  of  money,  and  send  them  to  him  in  that  form,  it 
would  not  alter  the  case.  They  would  still  ail  be  labor- 
ers in  one  common  cause,  different  parts  assigned  to 
each,  but  all  laboring  together  to  spread  the  gospel, 
according  to  the  command  of  their  Master.  Nor  would 
the  case  be  altered,  if  instead  of  working  for  this  pur- 
pose at    some   specified    time,  each   one   was  to   labor 


Ch,  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  2S5 

Its  nature  as  a  means  of  doing  good. 

wb3n  he  pleased,  in  carrying  forward  this  cause;  nor  is 
it  essential  that. such  labors  should  be  kept  distinct  from 
the  ordinary  labors  of  the  day.  All  these  incidental 
circumstances  may  be  almost  endlessly  varied,  without 
at  all  altering  the  real  nature  of  the  transaction,  consid- 
ered as  a  combination  among  many  Christians  to  effect 
a  moral  impression  on  human  souls,  each  taking  his  own 
appropriate  part,  but  all  engaged  together,  and  all  res- 
ponsible directly  to  God. 

Such  substantially,  is,  in  all  cases,  the  nature  of  the 
employment  of  money  in  spreading  the  gospel.  One 
man  by  his  own  unaided  efforts  cannot  give  the  Bible  to 
a  nation,  or  preach  the  gospel  in  a  half  civilized  pro- 
vince, or  upon  an  island  of  tawny  savages,  half  round 
the  globe.  There  must  be  a  great  combination  to  effect 
objects  which  are  so  great  compared  with  the  narrow 
limits  of  individual  power.  In  this  great  combination, 
the  various  individuals  have  entirely  different  parts  to 
perform,  but  all  are  really  united  in  heart,  and  all  their 
separate  and  distinct  labors  tend  to  the  accomplishment 
of  one  common  result.  Money  is  made  use  of  as  the 
instrument,  but  it  is  only  an  instrument  for  bringing  all 
these  scattered  labors  to  bear  en  the  proper  po^nt.  In 
the  great  union,  too,  no  one  is  under  obligation  to  the 
others.  The  account  is  between  each  individual  and 
God. 

How  wonderful  are  the  results  secured  by  the  con- 
trivances and  arts  of  life,  A  solitary  widow,  in  her 
home  among  the  distant  forests,  knits  an  hour  or  two  at 
her  lonely  fireside,  in  order  to  contribute  her  little  share 
to  the  spread  of  the  gospel;  her  work  tells  on  the  minds 
of  savages  ten  thousand  miles  from  her  humble  dwelling. 
A  farmer's  children  cultivate  a  little  piece  of  ground  in 
their  father's  garden,  and  change  its  products  in  the 
autumn  for  a  dollar.  It  passes  from  their  hands  and  they 
see  it  no  more;  but  in  a  few  month*,  the  magic  metal 


286  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   9. 

Examples  of  its  power.  Kailiaiii  poinls  of  piety. 

comes  out  in  the  shape  of  a  thousand  pages  of  the  word 
of  God,  and  Hves  for  lialf  a  century  to  tell  its  message 
to  the  benighted  people  of  some  foreign  land,  A  timid 
and  retiring  and  fearful  daughter  of  Zion,  wishes  to  do 
something  for  her  JMaster,  and  she  industriously  plies 
her  needle  during  the  long  winter  evenings  of  a  single 
season,  and  a  few  months  afterwards,  in  consequence  of 
it,  a  miserable  and  suffering  child,  whom  she  never  saw, 
in  a  country  which  she  has  scarcely  heard  of,  is  told 
that  he  can  be  clothed  and  fed  and  taught,  through  the 
instrumentality  of  a  love  which  has  reached  half  round 
the  globe  to  bring  him  relief  from  his  misery. 

It  is  important  to  be  noticed  here,  too,  that  in  one  re- 
spect, the  more  remote  from  ourselves  is  the  place  where 
we  can  make  any  moral  impression,  the  more  valuable 
it  will  be:  for  piety,  when  pure,  tends,  from  its  very 
nature,  to  spread  and  propagate  itself,  and  therefore, 
from  every  point  among  the  population  of  this  world,  at 
which  we  can  once  give  it  a  footing,  we  may  hope  it  will 
extend  in  a  wider  and  wider  circle.  It  is  a  liofht,  which 
will  be  the  more  universally  diffused,  the  more  its  radiant 
points  are  multiplied.  And  yet  no  error  can  possibly  be 
more  fatal  than  for  a  Christian  to  suppose  that  he  could 
atone  for  the  want  of  heartfelt  and  efficient  piety  in  his 
own  quiet  sphere,  by  magnificent  plans  of  remote  and 
doubtful  good.  The  first  duty  of  every  follower  of  the 
Savior  is,  unquestionably,  as  we  have  already  shown,  at 
home, —  in  his  own  inmost  soul; — his  next,  in  his  own 
narrow  circle  of  personal  influence.  These  posts  must 
be  guarded  well  by  every  Christian,  or  else  piety  will 
soon  lose  the  little  hold  she  has  in  the  world.  But 
maintaining  a  high  standard  of  Christian  feeling  and 
action  m  the  small  circle  in  which  the  individual  imme- 
diately moves,  not  only  may  not  be  inconsistent  with 
extensive  and  wide-spreadino-  benevolence,  but  it  can 
not.     Looking  at  a  distance  and  planning  with  reference 


9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  287 

Sincere  motives.  Piety  begins  at  home. 

to  remote  and  unseen  results,  will  not  only  not  interfere 
with  the  progress  of  piety  in  the  heart,  but  if  such  efforts 
are  made  with  honest  sincerity,  they  will  be  the  most 
effectual  means  of  promoting  it.  But  then  they  must  be 
made  in  the  right  spirit.  The  attempt  to  carry  influence 
in  the  ways  we  have  described,  to  other  countries,  must 
spring  from  honest  desires  to  co-operate  with  God.  It 
is  this  co-operation,  and  the  moral  effect  at  which  it 
ought  to  aim,  that  must  be  the  great  stimulus  to  action, 
and  the  pleasure  of  being  a  co-worker  with  God  must 
be  the  reward;  or  else  such  labors  will  only  improve 
and  strengthen  the  spiritual  pride,  or  the  love  of  osten- 
tation and  display,  from  which  they  spring. 

We  have  thus  clearly  before  us,  the  nature  of  the 
trust  committed  to  the  members  of  the  Christian  church 
of  every  name;  it  is  a  charge  to  spread  the  gospel  as 
soon  as  possible  throughout  the  globe.  We  are  to  con- 
sider ourselves  as  not  our  own,  in  any  sense,  but  wholly 
the  Lord's,  and  to  regard  it  as  our  highest  happiness  to 
be  permitted  to  identify  ourselves  entirely  with  the  pro- 
gress of  his  cause.  We  are  to  look  very  watchfully  and 
very  faithfully  within;  for  the  best  way  to  make  religion 
spread  is  to  keep  it  pure.  We  are  to  do  every  thing 
we  can  to  diffuse  enjoyment  and  to  increase  the  influ- 
ences of  holiness  in  the  little  circle  in  which  we  immedi- 
ately move;  and  we  are  to  look  abroad  over  the  whole 
field  which  human  beings  occupy,  saying  with  our  hearts 
and  with  our  hands,  "Thy  kingdom  come."  To  these 
duties,  we  should  be  devoted  entirely.  Every  tiling 
should  be  subsidiary  to  them:  as  we  can  find  no  true 
happiness  but  in  such  a  work,  so  we  should  make  no 
reservations,  but  consecrate  every  thing  to  it,  and  so 
identify  ourselves  with  it,  as  to  have  no  separate  inter- 
ests whatever.  The  share  of  attention  which  each  of 
these  various  departments  of  the  great  work  of  spreading 
the  gospel,  should  in  each  individual  case  receive,  will 


5288  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Success  certain.  Important  trust  committed  to  CiiriHtiani. 

of  course  depend  upon  the  circumstances  of  each,  but 
together  they  should  monopolize  the  heart,  and  be  the 
object  of  every  hour's  exertion. 

All  this  is  very  good  theory,  perhaps  the  reader  may 
say,  but  who  lives  on  these  principles  in  practice.^  Very 
few,  it  must  be  admitted,  but  still  there  are  some.  The 
early  Christians  did,  and  by  means  of  the  example  and 
the  efforts  which  arose  from  their  unreserved  consecra- 
tion of  themselves  to  the  cause  of  God  in  this  world,  the 
principles  of  Christianity  spread  with  almost  inconceiv- 
able lapidity,  and  their  progress  was  not  checked  until 
worldliness  came  in  to  corrupt  the  hearts  of  pretended 
servants  of  God,  and  to  destroy  all  the  moral  power 
of  piety.  A  long,  dark  night  ensued,  and  we  yet  scarce- 
ly see  much  more  than  the  dawn  which  follows  it.  But 
the  success  which  has  attended  the  faint  and  feeble 
efforts  which  the  church  has  made,  within  the  last 
century,  show  most  conclusively  that  nothing  but  devot- 
ed piety  in  the  church,  and  the  efforts  which  must  inevi- 
tably spring  from  it,  is  wanting,  to  bring  back  this  world 
to  its  Maker, —  and  that,  too,  without  any  very  long 
delay. 

It  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  mysterious  features  of 
divine  government,  that  God  has  made  human  souls  so 
dependent  upon  one  another;  but  though  it  seems  hard 
for  those  who  must  wait  unblessed  with  the  light  of 
knowledge  and  pure  religion,  until  we  send  it  to  them, 
to  be  left  thus,  apparently  at  the  mercy  of  a  few  unfaith- 
ful pretenders  to  piety,  we  can  easily  see  how  kind  to 
us,  it  is,  for  our  Maker  to  repose  in  us  such  a  trust  and 
to  assign  to  us  such  a  duty.  To  give  man  such  an  en- 
terprise as  this,  as  the  object  of  his  life,  exalts  and  enno- 
bles him.  It  takes  him  out  of  the  narrow  circle  of  sel- 
fishness, and  raises  him  at  once,  above  the  groveling 
pursuits  of  sin,  and  gives  him  an  object  worthy  the 
powers  of  an  immortal  spirit.     We  feel,  if  we  engage 


Ch.  9.]  THE   PARTING   COMMAND.  289 

Sublimity  of  ilie  Christian's  work.  Religious  discussion. 

in  it,  linked  by  a  common  sympathy  with  all  that  is  great 
and  good  in  the  mighty  universe  of  God;  and  yet,  thus 
raised,  thus  exalted  as  we  are,  by  the  moral  grandeur 
of  the  cause  we  are  permitted  to  espouse,  there  is  no 
place  for  pride.  We  feel  the  lofty  emotions  which  our 
work  inspires,  on  account  of  the  moral  greatness  of  the 
principles  which  it  is  its  object  to  diffuse,  and  the  bound- 
lessness of  the  field  over  which  they  are  to  be  extended, 
and  the  countless  variety,  and  lofty  moral  and  intellectual 
rank  of  the  beings  who  sympathize  with  us,  or  who  work 
by  our  side, —  and  the  certainty  of  ultimate  and  trium- 
phant success.  These  are  the  sources  of  those  emotions 
with  which  the  Christian's  bosom  swells,  when  he  really 
comes  and  gives  himself  wholly  up  to  his  Master's  work; 
his  own  private  and  personal  share  in  results  so  vast, 
dwindles  into  insignificance,  and  pride  has  no  soil,  to 
which  its  roots  can  cling.  Man  thus,  by  linking  himself 
with  God,  and  giving  himself  wholly  to  His  work,  enjoys 
the  elevation  and  the  happiness  of  greatness,  and  is 
saved  from  its  dangers  and  sins. 

V.  —  RELIGIOUS   DISCUSSION. 

We  place  this  title  among  the  subjects  brought  be- 
fore the  reader  in  this  chapter,  rather  with  the  design 
of  excluding  than  of  including  it.  It  is  a  very  doubtful 
means  of  doing  good.  Skill  in  disputation  is  a  weapon 
very  commonly  employed;  far  too  commonly;  and  our 
design  now  is,  to  show  its  nature,  and  what  may  fairly  be 
expected  from  it,  and  especially  to  define  those  limits 
and  restrictions  to  which  such  efforts  to  act  upon  the 
mind  ought  to  be  subjected.  Let  the  reader  understand, 
however,  while  reading  the  remarks  on  this  subject,  that, 
like  the  rest  of  this  work,  they  are  addressed  to  common 
Christians,  sustaining  the  ordinary  relations  and  connex- 
ions of  society.  Learned  men  have  sometimes  devoted 
their  lives  to  the  work  of  placing  on  record  the  evidences 
25 


290  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9t, 

Written  defences  of  Cliristianity.  Early  associations.  Inittances. 

which  their  researches  have  furnished,  of  the  truth  and 
divine  authority  of  the  Scriptures,  or  of  the  nature  of 
the  truths  they  reveal;  and  the  works  thus  produced, 
have  been  among  the  strongest  bulwarks  of  Christian 
faith.  Our  plan  does  not  lead  us  to  say  any  thing  of 
efforts  like  these:  it  confines  us  to  the  attempts  continu- 
ally made  to  remove  religious  error,  by  argument  and 
discussion,  in  the  common  intercourse  of  life;  attempts 
which  under  certain  circumstances  are  wise  and  success- 
ful;  under  others  they  are  far  worse  than  useless. 

Religious  discussion  has  its  sole  foundation  in  real  or 
supposed  religious  error;  and  the  nature  of  religious 
error  is  very  little  understood.  Let  us  look  at  some  of 
its  sources. 

1.  One  great  source  of  erroneous  impressions,  on  all 
subjects,  is  the  power  of  influences  exerted  in  early  life, 
and  which  are  sometimes  so  strong  as  utterly  to  bid  de- 
fiance to  all  argument.  Every  one  has  observed  the 
permanency  of  these  early  impressions  of  early  life  in 
such  cases  as  the  following.  A  child  was  once  terrified, 
when  very  young,  by  suddenly  seeing  a  snake,  as  it  was 
playing  in  the  grass;  and  up  to  the  age  of  twenty,  he 
retained  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  the  animal,  so 
that  his  companions  used  to  torment  him  by  forcing 
upon  his  observation,  pictures  of  snakes, —  which  would 
overwhelm  him  in  an  agony  of  terror  and  suffering. 
Another  was  carried  to  see  a  man  who  was  shockingly 
mangled  by  an  accidental  explosion,  in  blasting  rocks, — 
and  fifteen  years  did  not  obliterate  the  impression.  Dur- 
ing all  the  years  of  childhood  and  youth,  the  effects  of 
gunpowder,  in  every  form,  were  a  continual  terror  to 
him.  Now  will  you  endeavor  to  overcome  such  feelings 
by  argument?  Will  you  go  and  try  to  prove  to  these 
terrified  young  men,  that  a  picture  cannot  bite,  or  that 
the  flash  of  a  little  squib  cannot  endanger  them? 


Ch.   9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  291 

Religious  antipathies ;    beyond  the  reach  of  argument. 

But  the  reader  will  say  that  these  are  mere  antipathies; 
they  are  not  of  the  nature  of  erroneous  convictions  en- 
tertained by  the  understanding.  So  is  a  very  large  pro- 
portion of  the  dislike  to  religion,  and  the  disbelief  of  its 
truths,  mere  antipathy,  and  not  deliberate  conviction. 
The  cases  just  adduced  to  illustrate  it,  are  certainly 
strong  ones;  but  every  man  who  will  pause  a  moment  to 
reflect,  must  see  that  a  child,  brought  up  under  the  influ- 
ence of  such  associations  as  are  in  many  families  con- 
nected with  the  religious  opinions  of  those  who  disagree 
with  them,  must  inevitably,  if  human  nature  is  consistent 
with  itself,  form  such  an  antipathy.  It  may  have  men, 
or  it  may  have  opinions,  for  its  objects,  but  in  either 
case  argument,  as  a  corrective,  would  be  utterly  thrown 
away.  It  would  not  only  be  entirely  insufficient  to  pro- 
duce a  change,  but  it  would  scarcely  have  any  tendency 
to  do  it. 

A  sufficient  allowance  is  not  made  for  this  by  the  oppo- 
site parties  in  a  religious  controversy.  If  one  generation 
takes  sides  violently,  on  any  question,  they  inevitably 
entail  the  quarrel.  Their  children  have  scarcely  the 
opportunity  to  judge  for  themselves.  The  laws  of  the 
human  mind  almost  compel  them  to  feel  as  their  fathers 
felt;  for  it  becomes  in  such  cases,  a  matter  of  feeling 
rather  than  opinion.  No  one,  therefore,  ought  ever  to 
cherish  a  harsh  or  an  unkind  thought  towards  any  one,  on 
account  of  his  religious  errors,  if  his  father  led  the  way. 

This  influence  of  early  associations  has  more  power 
than  all  other  causes  put  together,  in  the  formation  of 
religious  opinions.  The  children  of  Mahometans  be- 
come Mahometans  themselves,  without  arguments  in 
favor  of  the  Prophet;  and  in  the  Christian  world,  rehgious 
opinions  are  hereditary,  and  pass  down  with  exceptions 
comparatively  few  and  rare,  from  father  to  son;  so  that 
Popery,  and  Protestantism,  Episcopacy  and  Dissent, 
and  Presbyterian,  Baptist,  and  Methodist  opinions,  oq^ 


S9S  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Opinions  hereditary.  Irreligion  the  c«u«e  of  eiTor. 

cupy,  in  the  main,  the  same  ground,  from  generation  to 
generation.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  argument  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  this,  for  though  every  faith  has  its  de- 
fenders, to  which  all  have  acces;?,  still  each  child  hears 
chiefly  the  voice  of  the  one  which  its  father  chooses  for 
it.  But,  notwithstanding  this,  every  intelligent  observer 
of  the  human  mind,  and  especially  of  the  habits  and 
susceptibilities  of  childhood,  will  at  once  admit,  that 
other  influences  than  those  of  argument  are  the  efliicient 
ones,  in  the  production  of  these  almost  universal  effects. 
Let  no  one  infer  from  these  undeniable  facts,  that 
men  are  not  accountable  for  the  exercise  of  their  reason 
in  respect  to  their  relations  to  God.  They  are  account- 
able. The  fact  that  men  follow  on  so  blindly  after  their 
parents  in  this,  more  than  in  any  other  case,  is  an  indi- 
cation of  the  cold  indiflference  of  the  human  heart  to  its 
religious  duty.  Parents  cannot  control  their  children's 
opinions  and  preferences,  on  other  points,  so  completely; 
and  they  could  not  here,  were  not  the  heart  so  cold,  so 
indifferent,  so  benumbed  in  respect  to  God.  When  the 
conscience  is  aroused,  these  chains  are  immediately 
broken,  and  the  soul  goes  free  to  think  for  itself,  and  to 
throw  away  its  shackles  for  ever.  It  may  escape  slowly 
from  their  thraldom,  but  escape  it  will,  if  any  real  peni- 
tence and  any  real  love  to  God  can  find  a  place  in  the 
heart.  So  that  what  is  justly  to  be  inferred  from  these 
views,  is  not  that  men  who  are  in  error,  are  innocent,  but 
that  they  are  no  more  guilty  than  those  who  believe  the 
truth,  and  yet  live  in  sin.  A  thousand  children,  growing 
up  without  God,  are  all  guilty  for  thus  living  in  disobe- 
dience to  his  will;  but  if  they  do  thus  live,  the  question 
of  their  religious  belief  is  not  of  much  consequence  as 
an  Indication  of  their  real  characters.  Their  belief  is 
probably  almost  a  matter  of  mere  accident;  so  that,  as 
to  their  characters,  it  makes  no  great  difference  who  is 
right,  and  who  wrong  in  theory.     Their  guilt  consists  in 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  39S 

One  great  distinction.  Influence  of  feelings.  Instances. 

their  impenitence,  which  is  common  to  them  all,  not  in 
their  errors,  in  which,  from  accidental  circumstances, 
each  may  differ  from  the  rest. 

When  we  look  around  therefore  upon  society,  we 
should  make  one  great  distinction  in  estimating  human 
character,  and  that  is,  between  those  who  love  God,  and 
those  who  love  him  not;  and  we  must  remember  that 
from  the  very  fact  that  the  latter  class  do  not  love  duty, 
they  will  make  no  honest  effort,  themselves,  to  learn 
what  it  is.  They  all  drink  in  whatever  is  offered  to  them 
in  childhood.  Some  are  right,  and  some  are  wrong, 
but,  as  we  have  seen,  accident  has  been  most  instru- 
mental in  deciding  in  each  case,  and  ungodliness  is  the 
common  foundation  on  which  all  stand.  Induce  them 
to  abandon  sin,  and  to  return  to  God,  in  any  respect,  and 
their  eyes  will  be  opened.  Act  upon  the  heart  first,  and 
the  intellect  will  rectify  itself  afterwards;  though  it  will 
be  by  steps  too  hesitating  and  slow  for  our  impatience 
to  tolerate,  unless  we  have  considered,  more  attentively 
than  most  persons  have,  the  extreme  and  aknost  uncon- 
querable reluctance  with  which  the  power  of  early  asso- 
ciations relinquishes  its  hold. 

The  first  source  of  religious  error  then,  is,  these 
associations  of  early  childhood,  which  reasoning  never 
formed,  and  which  she  is  utterly  incompetent  to  over- 
throw. 

2.  Another  very  common  source  of  error  on  all  sub- 
jects, and  especially  in  religion,  is  the  bias  of  mind 
produced  by  the  influence  of  the  feelings.  The  danger 
of  such  a  bias  is  universally  understood  in  common  life, 
and  is  guarded  against,  in  many  cases,  with  great  care. 
Whenever  a  contention  arises  between  two  individuals, 
the  friends  and  connexions  of  the  respective  combatants, 
with  the  same  facts  before  their  eyes,  and  guided  profes- 
sedly by  the  same  principles  of  right  and  wrong,  form 
25* 


t94  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Tbe  cooU*utioD.  The  consumptive  |)atienl.  Bias  in  religion. 

directly  opposite  opinions,  and  each  party  adheres  to  the 
▼iews  which  mere  feeling  has  produced,  with  inflexible 
pertinacity.  So  when  any  new  speculation  or  plan  of 
improvement  is  agitated  in  any  community,  each  man 
will  take  sides  on  the  question,  just  as  his  interests  would 
be  affected  by  the  results.  In  the  former  of  these  cases, 
it  is  personal  attachment,  in  the  latter,  pecuniary  interest 
which  constitutes  the  bias;  but  any  other  emotion  may 
produce  the  same  effect.  We  may  mention  one  other 
case,  which,  though  common,  is  melancholy  and  affect- 
ing in  the  extreme.  How  often  will  an  unhappy  man, 
conscious  that  he  is  unprepared  for  death,  sink  into  the 
last  stages  of  a  lingering  disease,  steeled  against  all 
sense  of  the  danger  which  he  does  not  wish  to  see.  His 
hectic  cheek,  and  gradually  sinking  powers  might  give 
him  most  certain  evidence  that  he  is  drawing  near  to  the 
grave;  but  he  shuts  his  eyes  to  every  indication  of  his 
danger.  Just  because  he  wishes  and  hopes  to  be  re- 
stored to  health,  he  resolutely  persists  in  believing  that 
restoration  is  before  him.  The  delusion,  a  very  happy 
one,  so  far  as  its  exhilarating  power  tends  to  sustain 
him  under  his  final  sufferings,  but  very  melancholy  in 
its  tendency  to  keep  him  from  finding  peace  with  God, 
—  clings  to  him  to  the  last;  and  he  sinks  under  the  very 
hand  of  death,  with  an  unwavering  but  baseless  confi- 
dence that  health  and  happiness  are  soon  to  return. 

This  tendency  of  the  human  mind  is  universally 
known;  every  man,  in  consequence  of  it,  almost  in- 
stinctively distrusts  the  opinions  of  others,  where  their 
feelings  or  their  interests  are  involved  in  the  question; 
and  a  wise  man,  under  such  circumstances,  will  distrust 
his  own. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  class  of  subjects  on  which  mea 
are  more  in  danger  from  this  source,  than  those  connect- 
ed with  religion.  The  various  interpretations  which  are 
giyen  to  the  declarations  of  the  Bible,  alter  very  con- 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING   COMMAND.  295 

Sources  of  bias.  Remedies.  Inefficacy  of  argument. 

siderably  their  force,  in  respect  to  the  degree  of  res- 
traint they  impose  upon  human  desires,  and  to  the 
amount  of  sacrifice  which  they  require  in  the  service 
of  God.  A  great  reason,  therefore,  in  many  cases,  why 
men  cannot  see  the  evidence  of  a  particular  truth,  is  the 
practical  consequences  which  flow  from  it.  We  see  this 
very  clearly  in  those  cases  where  certain  abstract  views 
of  duty  relate  more  or  less  directly  to  the  common  pur- 
suits of  life,  so  as  to  interfere  with  the  business  of  one 
man,  while  they  leave  that  of  another  untouched.  The 
former  will  make  great  opposition  to  that  which,  in  the 
view  of  the  other,  is  most  obviously  and  unquestionably 
true.  Now  in  some  such  cases,  where  great  and  obvious 
principles  of  common  morality  are  concerned,  the  proper 
course  undoubtedly  is,  to  throw  such  a  blaze  of  light 
upon  the  subject,  as  to  force  the  guilty  perseverer  in  sin 
to  see  his  duty.  In  regard,  however,  to  what  are  more 
strictly  called  religious  truths,  mere  argument  in  such 
cases  is  of  little  avail. 

A  man  for  instance  has  made  up  his  mind  to  live  in 
sin,  and  perhaps  in  vice.  He  does  what  he  knows  to  he 
wrong  from  day  to  day,  though  conscience,  not  wholly 
silenced,  murmurs  feebly  in  those  hours  of  solitude  which 
he  cannot  wholly  avoid, —  warning  him  of  the  danger  of 
a  judgment  to  come.  He  at  length  is  almost  accident- 
ally told,  that  there  is  no  future  retribution.  His  mind 
springs  spontaneously  into  the  belief  of  it.  He  needs 
no  argument.  He  may  indeed  listen  to  a  few  reasons, 
for  the  purpose  of  laying  them  up  as  weapons  of  defence, 
but  his  own  belief  is,  after  all,  founded  on  his  feelings. 
Now  argument  and  discussion  with  such  a  man  will  or- 
dinarily do  no  good.  While  he  appears  to  listen  to  you 
he  is  only  planning  his  own  reply.  Reasoning  has  not 
placed  him  in  his  entrenchment,  and  reasoning  cannot 
drive  him  from  it.  Must  he  then,  the  reader  may  ask, 
be  left  hopelessly?  No.  The  truth  has  an  ally  and  an 


296  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Hard  to  acknowledge  error.  The  remedy. 

advocate  in  his  own  breast,  which,  though  he  may  have 
silenced  it,  he  cannot  destroy;  and  our  hope  of  success 
is  in  making  its  warning  voice  heard  again.  Bring  diUy 
before  him;  lead  him  to  see  that  he  disobeys  God,  and 
that  his  expected  impunity,  can  be  no  excuse  for  sin. 
If  he  can  but  see  that  he  is  a  sinner,  he  will  go  to  the 
Bible,  and  that  will  set  him  right  about  the  future  con- 
sequences of  sin. 

The  cases  we  have  considered  thus  far,  are  those  in 
which  the  mind  is  led  to  reject  what  is  true,  because  the 
truth  is,  in  itself,  unpleasant,  on  account  of  the  practical 
duties  which  rest  upon  it;  but  the  mind  is  very  often 
blinded  in  a  little  different  way.  Men  are  often  kept  in 
error,  not  because  they  have  any  special  objection  to  the 
truth  itself,  or  to  the  practical  consequences,  in  general, 
which  result  from  it,  but  because  they  are  unwilling  to 
acknowledge  that  they  have  been  in  the  wrong.  A 
man  who  has  always  been  on  one  side,  and  is  so  univer- 
sally regarded,  cannot  admit  that  he  has  been  mistaken, 
without  feeling  mortification  himself,  and  exciting  the 
ill-will  of  others.  Light  however  comes  in,  which  he 
secretly  perceives  is  sufficient  to  show  him  that  he  has 
been  wrong;  but  he  turns  his  eye  away  from  it,  because 
he  instinctively  feels  what  must  inevitably  follow  from  its 
admission. 

These  and  similar  causes  act  so  universally,  that  the 
power  of  reasoning  and  argument  in  changing  the  relig- 
ious opinions  of  men  is  exceedingly  circumscribed.  If 
men  were  willing  to  perceive  the  truth,  we  should  have 
nothing  to  do,  but  to  prove  to  them  what  it  is;  but  proof 
is  so  abundant  every  where,  that  it  will  of  course  come 
to  the  soul  as  fast  as  it  is  ready  and  willing  to  receive  it. 
The  first  thing  then,  generally,  is  to  get  men  into  the 
path  of  duty.  They  all  have  truth  enough  to  enlighten 
the  beginning  of  it, —  and  more  light  will  certainly  shine 
upon  it,  as  they  go  on. 


Ch.  9.]  THE   PARTING    COMMAND.  297 

Useless  disputes.  Language  misunderstood.  Human  character. 

There  is,  however,  a  vast  amount  of  useless  discussion 
arising  from  religious  differences,  which  the  foregoing 
heads  of  remark  will  not  explain.  They  who  are  in 
some  degree  willing  to  abandon  sin,  and  do  their  duty, 
still  see  many  subjects  in  very  different  lights,  and 
become  involved  in  endless  disputes  respecting  them. 
Some  of  the  more  common  sources  of  such  profitless  con- 
troversies come  next  in  our  enumeration. 

3.  Disputes  founded  on  difference  in  the  understand- 
ing of  language.  Take  for  example,  human  character. 
There  is  no  field  more  open  to  human  observation  than 
this,  and  perhaps  there  are  few  subjects  in  regard  to 
the  facts  of  which,  men  are  more  universally  agreed;  and 
yet  there  is  scarcely  any  one  which  has  given  rise  to 
more  endless  discussions. 

In  their  practical  dealings  with  mankind,  it  is  plain  that 
intelligent  men  of  all  parties  take  substantially  the  same 
views  of  human  conduct  and  character.  They  who,  in 
the  argument,  have  the  lowest  views  of  the  natural  char- 
acter, are  not  more  suspicious  or  severe  in  practice  than 
others;  and  those  who  speak  most  highly  of  the  native 
purity  and  the  spontaneous  virtues  of  the  human  heart, 
are  not  thrown  off  their  guard  by  their  theories.  As  to 
the  facts,  there  is,  and  there  can  be,  scarcely  any  disa- 
greement. We  all  know  how  men  think  and  feel  about 
God,  and  on  what  principles  they  act  in  relation  to  one 
another.  No  company  of  bank  directors,  or  board  of 
managers,  or  cabinet  council,  probably  ever  differed 
very  seriously  in  respect  to  the  success  of  proposed 
measures,  on  account  of  the  difference  of  their  views  in 
respect  to  the  character  and  the  tendencies  of  human 
nature.  They  may  belong  to  very  different  denomina- 
tions, and  may  have  expressed  their  views  in  theory,  in 
conflicting  language,  but  when  they  leave  theory,  they 
have  no  difficulty  about  the  facts. 


298  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Nature  of  disputes  about  it.  Misuiwierstanding. 

I  speak  of  course  here  of  questions  about  human  char- 
acter as  it  is,  not  about  the  feelings  with  which  God 
regards  it;  this  is  evidently  a  different  point,  and  one  in 
which  disagreement  would  not  necessarily  atlect  the 
practice,  in  the  common  business  of  life.  But  any  real 
diflforence  in  respect  to  the  actual  extent  of  the  depravity 
of  the  heart  would  affect  this  practice.  Now  notwith- 
standing all  the  disputes  with  which  mankind  have  been 
agitated  on  this  subject,  there  is  harmony,  when  they 
come  to  act.  The  disputes  are  at  once  forgotten;  men 
of  the  most  opposite  theoretical  views,  work  side  by 
side,  differing  in  nothing  except  that  they  who  have  had 
the  most  extensive  experience,  are  most  completely  on 
their  guard. 

Now  how  happens  it  that  under  such  circumstances, 
there  should  be  such  a  perpetual  dispute  when  there  can 
be  after  all  but  little  real  disagreement?  Of  course,  I 
refer  here,  as  has  been  remarked  before,  to  a  disagree- 
ment about  the  actual  principles  by  which  human  nature 
is  controlled,  and  not  to  the  view  which  God  takes  of 
these  principles.  How  can  there  be  such  a  disagreement .'' 
The  explanation  is  that  the  terms  employed  in  the  discus- 
sion convey  to  different  individuals  very  different  ideas. 
One  party  understands  the  language  used  by  the  other, 
in  describing  human  character,  as  implying  moral  per- 
version so  complete,  that  the  heart  would  take  delight  m 
promoting  suffering,  and  love  moral  evil  in  all  cases,  on  its 
own  account,  rather  than  moral  good.  They  would  expect 
to  see  it  hating  one  being  because  he  is  merciful,  and 
another  because  he  is  faithful  and  true.  They  would 
expect  men  with  such  characters  as  they  suppose  the 
language  in  question  to  imply,  would  abhor  justice  and 
mercy,  and  benevolence,  not  in  those  particular  cases 
merely  where  the  operation  of  these  principles  come 
into  collision  with  their  own  interest,  but  in  the  abstract, 
and  universally.     They  would  expect   to  see  them  ap- 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  299 

Dispute  grounded  on  misunderstanding.         Ambiguity  of  common  words. 

plauding  cruelty,  and  admiring  black  ingratitude,  and 
carrying  their  principles  out  into  practice  by  devising 
misery  for  all  around  them,  merely  for  the  pleasure  of 
witnessing  it,  and  bestowing  a  double  share  of  their 
malignity  upon  those  who  had  been  most  friendly  to 
them. 

Such  a  character  as  this  is  what  one  class  of  persons 
understand  by  the  language  used,  and  in  the  dispute 
they  merely  maintain  that  this  is  not  the  actual  charac- 
ter of  mankind.  Nobody  believes  it  is,  but  the  dispute 
goes  on,  one  party  contending  for  one  view  and  the 
other  opposing  not  the  opinion  of  their  antagonist  but 
a  totally  different  one;  and  which  seems  equally  pre- 
posterous to  both.  If  they  should  come  to  an  explana- 
tion, the  chief  question  would  be,  by  what  terms  they 
should  describe  what  every  body  sees,  and  what  their 
practice  proves  that  they  see  substantially  alike. 

When  we  come  even  to  such  terms  as  can,  will,  free- 
dom, 'punishment,  unity,  j)erson,  sin,  affections  and  a  hun- 
dred others,  which  are  the  perpetual  topics  of  religious 
controversy,  though  they  are  plain  and  explicit  enough  in 
common  use,  they  have  various  shades  of  signification 
as  terms  in  a  metaphysical  argument.  These  shades 
cannot  be  defined;  they  elude  all  attempts  to  fix  them, 
and  yet  they  very  seriously  affect  the  views  a  man  will 
form  of  the  propositions  into  which  they  enter;  and 
many  and  many  a  time,  controversialists  have  found, 
after  a  long  discussion,  that  they  had  misunderstood  each 
other  from  the  beginning. 

Take  for  instance  the  first  word  of  the  foregomg  list. 
It  seems  a  very  simple  word,  and  one  that  is  very  gen- 
erally understood.  So  it  is,  as  far  as  is  necessary  for 
popular  use.  But  any  person  may  convince  himself  that 
when  used  for  other  purposes,  it  is  not  understood  alike, 
by  trying  this  experiment.  On  some  occasion,  when  ten 
or  twenty  or  more  individuals,  not  accustomed  to  meta- 


300  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Proposed  question,  and  dispute  ariaing  from  it. 

physical  speculations,  are  together,  propose  this  que»- 
tion.  **  Can  any  one  of  the  company  go  and  lie  down 
in  a  burning  fire  ?  Considering  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  case,  the  nature  of  fire,  his  dislike  of  pain,  his  sound 
mind, —  considering  all  these  circumstances,  can  he  do 
it?"  After  pausing  a  moment  for  reflection,  so  that  each 
individual  can  form  an  independent  judgment,  call  for 
a  simple  answer, — ay,  or  no.  The  company  will  proba- 
bly be  about  equally  divided.  The  larger  it  is,  the  more 
nearly  equal  generally  will  be  the  division.  If,  now,  the 
individuals  are  allowed  to  discuss  the  question,  each 
person  presenting  the  view  which  guided  his  own  vote, 
and  then  the  question  is  put  again,  the  diversity  of  opin- 
ion will  still  remain,  and  in  ordinary  cases  they  would 
never  come  to  an  agreement.  And  yet  there  is  no  dif- 
ference of  opinion  about  the  facts.  Every  one  knows 
perfectly  well  what  is  the  actual  fact,  as  to  the  power  of 
an  individual  in  respect  to  such  a  case.  The  whole  ap- 
parent diversity  is  produced  by  different  ideas  as  to  the 
precise  metaphysical  signification  of  the  little  word  can. 
Practised  minds  would  have  no  diflSculty  in  such  a  case; 
they  would  immediately  define  the  word,  and  give  two 
answers  according  to  the  two  significations,  and  they 
would  be  unanimous. 

Now  no  class  of  disputes  are  more  common  than  end^ 
less  discussions  which  are  precisely  of  such  a  character 
as  this  would  be.  The  danger  is  understood  by  scholars 
who  are  at  all  conversant  with  the  nature  of  such  inquiries, 
and  they  make  very  special  efforts,  though  they  are  often 
ineflTectual,  to  guard  against  it.  But  the  mass  of  man- 
kind are  very  imperfectly  aware  of  this  source  of  difficul- 
ty, and  they  involve  themselves  in  endless  disputes,  the 
parties  calling  things  by  different  names,  and  each  com- 
batant astonished  at  the  stupidity  and  obstinacy  of  the 
other,  in  refusing  to  see  what  is  so  perfectly  plain. 


Ch.    9.]  THE   PARTING    COMMAND.  301 

Unimportant  questions.  Pride  and  self  conceit. 

4.  Another  source  of  endless  and  fruitless  discussions, 
is  disputing  about  questions  which  can  be  of  no  practical 
consequence,  however  they  may  be  decided.  Such  as 
the  origin  of  sin,  the  state  of  the  soul  between  death 
and  the  resurrection,  the  salvation  of  infants,  the  pre- 
cise metaphysical  relationship  of  the  Son  to  the  Father. 
We  have  said  they  are  of  no  practical  consequence;  of 
course  an  ingenious  reasoner  can  contrive  to  connect 
practical  consequences  with  any  subject  whatever,  and 
in  his  zeal  he  will  exaggerate  the  importance  of  the 
connexion.  In  fact  every  subject  in  the  moral  world  is 
more  or  less  connected  with  every  other  one:  nothing 
stands  out  entirely  detached  and  isolated,  and  conse- 
quently a  question  which  its  arguers  will  admit  to  be 
merely  a  theoretical  one,  will  never  be  found. 

It  would  of  course  be  absurd  to  condemn  all  discussion 
of  such  points  as  the  above,  and  others  similar  to  them. 
The  calm  philosophical  consideration  of  such  questions 
is  perfectly  proper.  It  is  bringing  them  into  the  field  of 
religious  truth,  and  making  them  the  means  of  religious 
divisions, —  each  party  jealous  and  suspicious  of  those 
who  think  differently  from  himself, —  and  leaving  the 
weightier  matters  of  judgment,  mercy  and  faith,  to  wran- 
gle about  differences  v/hich  can  do  at  most  but  little 
harm: — this  is  the  spirit  which  it  is  our  object  to  con- 
demn. 

5.  The  last  source  of  religious  error,  and  useless  re- 
ligious disputes  which  we  shall  mention,  is  the  pride  and 
self-conceit  which  keeps  men  from  realizing  that  there 
is  or  can  be  any  subject  which  is  actually  beyond  the 
reach  of  their  powers.  Men  will  indeed  admit  this,  in 
the  abstract,  b-ut  then  they  evince  the  insincerity  of 
such  an  acknowledgment,  by  having  a  distinct  and  well- 
defined  theory,  on  every  subject  which  can  be  brought 
before  them. 

26 


302  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  ^ 

The  limited  poweru  of  Uic  human  mind.        Fruitlessnefls  of  coDtroveraicflk 

But  the  truth  is,  and  every  mind  wliich  really  reflects 
on  its  condition  and  its  powers  must  perceive  it,  that  the 
beams  of  reason  and  revelation,  which  sliine  upon  our 
path,  afford  a  distinct  illumination  only  for  those  ohjecta 
which  are  immediately  around  us,  and  with  which  we 
have  a  direct  and  practical  connexion.  Beyond  this 
circle,  and  it  is  a  much  narrower  one  than  is  perhaps 
generally  supposed,  there  is  a  region  of  doubt  and  dark- 
ness, into  which  the  human  mind  will  endeavor  in  vain 
to  extend  its  vision.  In  some  cases,  we  attempt  to 
define  accurately,  what  from  its  very  nature,  is  not 
susceptible  of  accurate  definition:  we  assign  exact  bound- 
aries in  our  conceptions,  when  the  subject  does  not  admit 
of  them  in  reality.  We  make  sweeping  assertions,  dis- 
posing of  whole  classes  of  subjects  at  a  word,  or  we  take 
a  general  principle  which  is  perhaps  true  in  the  main, 
and  carry  it  out  to  extremes,  to  which  it  cannot  fairly 
extend.  We  do  this  either  from  the  influence  of  an 
almost  universal  tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  love 
sweeping  generalities,  or  else  because  it  is  troublesome 
to  pause,  and  reflect,  and  ascertain  exceptions.  In  fact, 
a  reflecting  man  will  often  detect  himself  believinor  a 
proposition  merely  because,  when  expressed,  it  sounds 
antithetic  and  striking,  or  because  it  is  comprehensive 
and  distinct,  and,  right  or  wrong,  presents  a  convenient 
solution  for  whole  classes  of  difficulties.  The  human 
mind  will,  in  a  word,  run  into  almost  any  belief,  by  which 
it  may  be  saved  the  labor  of  patient  thought,  and  at  the 
same  time  avoid  the  mortification  of  acknowledging  its 
ignorance. 

From  these  views  of  the  origin  and  nature  of  religious 
error,  and  the  effect  of  argument  and  discussion  as  a 
means  of  removing  it,  it  seems  to  be  pretty  clear  that 
those  endless  disputes  and  controversies  which  are  per- 
petually springing  up  in  the  common  walks  of  life,  by 


Ch.  9.]  THE    PARTING    COMMAND.  303 

The  test  of  the  truth.  Sin  a  disease.  Efficacy  of  remedies. 

which  the  peace  and  harmony  of  families  and  villages  are 
so  often  destroyed,  are  labor  spent  in  vain.  The  Chris- 
tian endeavors  to  reason  his  brother  Christian  or  his 
worldly  neighbor  out  of  his  errors,  and  begins,  perhaps, 
with  honest  motives,  and  certainly  with  sanguine  hopes 
of  success.  But  he  finds  that  however  exclusively  he 
may  imagine  the  truth  to  be  on  one  side,  there  may  be 
talking  on  both,  and  he  soon  becomes  irritated  by  formi- 
dable opposition,  when  he  expected  an  immediate  sur- 
render. He  soon  becomes  excited,  and  forgetting  the 
spiritual  value  of  the  truth,  he  contends  for  victory  in  the 
contest,  and  if  he  had  any  right  feeling  at  the  beginning, 
it  is  all  gone  before  the  conversation  is  closed. 

The  best  way  for  private  Christians  to  prove  the  truth, 
is  to  let  it  exercise  its  whole  power  upon  their  own 
hearts,  and  then  to  exhibit  its  fruits.  Try  to  promote 
tlie  happiness,  and  to  improve  the  hearts  and  lives  of 
those  around  you,  and  you  will  evince  the  efficacy,  and 
the  value,  and  the  truth  of  the  opinions  you  hold,  better 
than  in  any  other  way.  If  a  pestilential  disease  were 
raging  in  a  city,  and  if  the  community  were  divided  in 
regard  to  the  method  of  cure,  how  preposterous  would  it 
be  for  those  who  are  well,  to  leave  the  sick  and  suffering, 
and  suspend  all  active  efforts,  and  waste  their  time  in 
disputes  about  the  nature  of  the  vital  powers, —  the 
character  of  the  disease, —  and  the  operation  of  the 
various  remedies.  It  would  be  absurd;  but  let  each  one 
go  and  try  his  own  plan,  and  the  success  of  the  right  one, 
will  secure  its  universal  adoption;  and  that  too,  with  a 
rapidity  which  will  be  just  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in 
which  all  disputing  on  the  subject  is  avoided.  In  the 
same  manner,  success  in  turning  men  to  holiness  is  the 
great  criterion  of  religious  truth.  It  must  be  so;  the 
world  is  full  of  hearts  alienated  from  God,  and  enslaved 
to  sin:  and  nothing  but  true  religion  can  break  these 
chains,    and   bring   back  the   wanderer  to   pardon   and 


304  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.  9. 

Moral  puwer  of  the  truth.  The  means  of  propagating  it. 

happiness.  Let  the  advocates  then,  of  every  system  of 
religious  truth,  go  abroad  among  mankind,  and  try  their 
remedies.  Tliat  wliich  is  really  from  Heaven  must  suc- 
ceed, and  success  must  decide  its  triumph. 

In  fact  the  little  progress  which  religion  is  making  in 
the  world  is  made  in  this  way.  Disputes  on  all  sul)ject3 
which  are  involved  in  real  difficulty,  generally  result  in 
a  division  of  the  auditors  into  parties,  proi)ortioned,  pretty 
nearly,  to  the  abilities  of  the  combatants;  and  in  religion 
there  is  a  bias,  which  is  altogether  on  the  wrong  side; 
discussion,  therefore,  here  will  be  peculiarly  uncertain  in 
its  results.  It  is  the  visible  moral  effect  of  the  truth, 
which  really  sustains  its  influence  in  this  world.  It  is 
moral  power,  so  evident  and  so  irresistible,  which  enables 
pure  Christianity  to  stand  her  ground;  and  everything 
which  diminishes  this,  or  limits  the  sphere  of  its  influence, 
or  draws  off  the  attention  of  men  from  it, —  every  thing 
of  this  kind,  retards  most  directly  and  most  powerfully 
the  progress  of  the  Savior's  cause.  Let  every  class  of 
Christians  then,  who  think  they  love  the  truth,  not  waste 
Iheir  time  in  disputing  with  their  neighbors,  but  cherish 
the  pure  spirit  of  piety  in  their  hearts,  and  cultivate  in 
themselves  and  in  all  around  them,  its  genuine  and  happy 
fruits.  The  Christian's  rule  of  influence  is  not  to  en- 
deavor to  establish  the  truth  in  the  human  intellect  by  the 
power  of  subtle  disputation;  but  "  by  manifestation  of  the 
truth,  to  commend  themselves  to  every  man's  conscience^ 
in  the  sight  of  God."  In  other  words,  we  must  bring 
piety  forward;  its  nature  and  tendencies  must  be  made 
to  appear  in  this  world,  and  to  stand  out  in  bold  and 
striking  relief,  among  the  prevailing  miseries  and  sins. 
But  this  must  be  done,  too,  with  the  constant  conviction 
that  THE  CONSCIENCE  is  the  great  avenue  by  which  it  is 
to  find  access  to  the  human  heart,  if  it  is  admitted  at 
all. 


Ch.    lO.j  THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  305 

The  command  and  the  promise.  The  Savior's  presence. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PARTING    PROMISE, 

OR  THE  INFLUENCES  OF  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

•<  Lo  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." 

At  the  time  of  our  Savior's  crucifixion,  any  one  who 
should  have  looked  abroad  at  the  condition  and  char- 
acter of  mankind,  would  have  pronounced  the  attempt 
which  the  twelve  disciples  were  about  to  make,  the  most 
wild  and  impracticable  scheme  which  the  human  heart 
could  devise.  Jesus  knew,  when  he  commanded  his 
followers  to  engage  in  such  an  enterprise,  that  they 
would  need  help.  He  coupled  therefore  a  promise  to 
his  command, — the  one  as  remarkable  as  the  other. 

The  Savior's  presence  with  his  followers  assists  them 
in  their  work,  undoubtedly,  in  several  ways.  It  cheers 
and  sustains  them.  It  gives  them  guidance  and  direction 
in  difficulty  and  doubt;  and  the  feeling  that  they  are 
always  with  their  leader,  enjoying  his  presence  and 
sympathy,  gives  devoted  and  honest  Christians  a  support 
in  difficulty,  and  trial,  and  affliction,  which  nothing  else 
could  affi3rd. 

But  Jesus  had  often  said  before,  that  men,  when 
turned  from  sin,  where  turned  by  influences  from  above, 
which  influences  he  was  to  send  down  from  the  Father. 
We  cannot  therefore  doubt  that  in  this  his  parting  prom- 
ise, he  referred  in  part  at  least  to  the  co-operation  which 
he  should  himself  render  them,  in  all  their  effi^rts  to  save 
souls.  The  disciples  understood  this,  and  the  first  tri- 
umphs of  Christianity  were,  in  a  simple  but  beautiful 
manner,  ascribed  to  him:  "And  the  Lord  added  to  the 
church  daily,  such  as  should  be  saved." 
26* 


306  THE    COKNER-STONE»  [Ch.    10. 

Proofs  of  it.  Saul.  DilViculties  uf  ilie  subject. 

Their  Master,  too,  gave  tlie  disciples  an  early  and  most 
signal  proof  that  he  remembered  his  promise,  and  w&s 
able  to  fulHl  it,  by  clianging  Saul,  their  bitterest  and 
most  powerful  foe,  to  their  most  devoted  and  most  efficient 
friend.  The  apostle  always  attributed  his  conversion  to 
the  direct  interposition  of  his  Savior;  and  with  such 
proofs  as  the  early  Christians  thus  had,  that  a  divine  and 
unwonted  influence  was  exerted  upon  human  hearts,  in 
connexion  with  their  eflbrts,  they  could  not  but  take 
courage,  and  press  on  in  a  cause,  which,  without  such 
aid,  must  have  been  very  soon  abandoned. 

We  have  the  same  evidence  now,  as  I  intend  to 
show  in  this  chapter,  by  a  narrative  of  facts, —  such  as 
are  in  substance  very  common  in  modern  times,  and 
which  prove  that  the  enterprise  of  bringing  the  world 
back  to  God  is  not  a  hopeless  one.  The  narrative  will 
show  too  that  the  same  kind  of  aid,  so  indispensable  to 
success  in  such  a  cause  as  this,  is  still  rendered.  Before 
coming  to  it,  however,  a  few  considerations  respecting 
the  general  subject  must  first  be  oflTered. 

There  are  certainly  great  difficulties  in  connexion  with 
the  truth  that  whenever  men  turn  away  from  their  sins 
and  enter  God's  service,  it  is  through  spiritual  life  which 
he  awakens  in  the  soul.  Into  these  difficulties,  we  do  not 
now  propose  to  enter.  We  feel  and  know  that  men  are 
free  and  accountable;  the  Bible  most  explicitly  states, 
too,  that  all  holy  desires  in  the  human  heart  come  from 
God.  If  however,  the  question  is  raised  how  holy  feel- 
ing can  be  the  spontaneous  movement  of  the  moral 
agent  which  exercises  it,  and  yet  be  the  gift  of  God,  we 
may  lose  ourselves  in  boundless  perplexities,  and  return 
from  the  fruitless  pursuits  more  dissatisfied  than  ever. 
The  difficulty  is,  however,  in  the  subject,  rather  than  in 
the  truth;  that  is,  it  appertains  to  a  whole  field  of  thought, 
and  not  to  one  particular  proposition.  It  is  difficult  for 
us  to  understand  how  a  being  can  be  created  at  all,  with- 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  307 

Subject  obscure.  Plausible  reasoning  not  to  be  relied  upon. 

out  having  his  character  determined  by  the  act  of  crea- 
tion. If  the  question,  what  his  first  moral  acts  shall  be, 
is  determined  by  any  thing,  it  would  seem  that  it  must  be 
by  something  in  his  moral  constitution,  as  it  was  framed 
by  his  Maker;  and  if  it  is  not  determined  by  any  thing,  it 
must,  one  would  think,  be  left  a  matter  of  pure  accident; 
and  that  which  is  matter  of  pure  accident,  cannot  be  of 
a  moral  nature.  We  might  thus,  make  out  a  very  re- 
spectable argument  a  priori,  that  a  free  moral  agent  can- 
not be  created;  as  creating  power,  unless  it  leaves  the 
moral  character  a  matter  of  mere  accident,  must  do 
something  to  determine  it,  in  which  case  it  would  seem 
that  it  is  itself  responsible  for  the  acts  which  follow. 

It  will  of  course  be  understood  that  we  do  not  offer 
this  argument  as  a  sound  one, —  but  only  as  plausible 
reasoning  which  is  not  to  be  relied  upon,  on  account  of 
the  obscurity  and  difficulty  of  the  whole  subject.  Take 
for  instance  the  question  suggested  by  the  last  lines  of 
the  preceding  paragraph; — can  creative  power  really 
determine  the  character  of  the  being  it  forms,  without 
being  itself  morally  responsible  for  that  character.  It 
is  a  question  which  might  be  disputed  by  philosophers 
for  ages,  without  victory  on  either  side.  The  difficulty 
is  in  the  subject.  Wherever  we  approach  it,  all  is  ob- 
scurity and  doubt.  We  cannot  trust  our  reasonings,  nor 
believe  our  conclusions. 

There  is  no  objection,  perhaps,  to  an  occasional  dis- 
cussion of  such  points,  by  Christians,  if  it  is  done  with 
the  same  feelings  with  which  we  should  investigate  any 
other  difficult  question,  in  metaphysics  or  philosophy: 
but  we  must  not  bring  them  into  the  region  of  religious 
feeling  and  duty,  and  press  upon  our  fellow  Christians 
the  theories  which  we  may  ourselves  be  led  to  form. 
What  human  minds  see  so  imperfectly,  they  never  see 
alike.  On  such  subjects  they  cannot  agree.  What  is 
substance  to  one,  is  shadow  to  another:  and  a  thought 


SOS  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10, 


Ambiguity  ol'  language.  Facts  are  plain ;  the  theory  obscure. 

which,  from  one  poiijt  of  view,  has  one  set  of  aspects 
and  relations,  from  a  ditterent  one  has  another,  totally 
diverse.  Besides,  in  the  higher  regions  of  metaphysical 
investigation,  words,  as  a  medium  of  communication,  if 
not  as  a  medium  of  thought,  lose  their  signiticancy,  and 
thus  even  the  conceptions  which  we  have,  though  per- 
haps clear  in  the  mind,  cannot  be  clearly  expressed.  In 
fact,  the  human  intellect,  when  it  roams  away  into  the 
profound  recesses  of  metaphysical  philosophy,  can  lead 
on  other  minds,  but  a  very  little  way.  Intercourse  by 
language  very  soon  fails.  We  endeavor,  by  nice  defini- 
tion, and  careful  etymological  discrimination,  to  lead  it 
on  as  far  as  it  will  go;  and  it  is  often  long  before  its 
growing  inadequacy  is  understood  and  felt.  It  must, 
however,  at  last  be  abandoned,  and  the  mind  then,  if  it 
advances  at  all,  must  advance  alone  and  silently.  It 
perceives  truths,  or  at  least,  it  has  conceptions  which  it 
cannot  communicate,  and  when  at  last,  bewildered  in 
the  increasing  perplexity  of  the  labyrinth,  it  gives  over, 
and  returns,  it  can  never  convey  to  another  mind  any 
precise  idea  of  the  point  to  which  it  had  gone. 

Now  nearly  all  the  disputes  on  this  subject  which  have 
agitated  the  church,  lie  in  that  doubtful  region,  where 
the  mind  can  see  but  dimly,  and  must  report  even  more 
dimly  than  it  sees.  Language  has  lost  its  power,  though 
he  who  uses  it  does  not  perceive  its  weakness,  and 
hence  the  discussions  are  made  up  almost  entirely  of 
explanations  and  corrections,  and  definitions  of  terms, 
and  charges  of  misunderstanding  or  misrepresentation. 
We  had  better  leave  the  whole  ground.  Believe  what 
the  Bible  says,  and  look  at  the  confirmations  of  it  af- 
forded so  abundantly  by  experience,  and  leave  discus- 
sions of  theories  for  a  future  day. 

We  come  then  to  the  facts  in  the  case,  which  are, 
that  men  will  not  turn  away  from  sin,  and  begin,  with 
broken-hearted  penitence,    to   serve    God,    without   his 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  309 

Moral  dependence  on  God.  Wailing  for  the  Spirit, 

aid.  There  is  no  way  of  inducing  them  to  do  it.  You 
can  bring  clearly  before  them  the  obligations  which 
they  are  under  to  God,  but  if  they  still  prefer  the  world 
and  sin,  what  more  can  you  do?  You  can  exhibit  the 
moral  beauty  of  gratitude,  but  if  you  exhibit  it  to  a  heart 
naturally  ungrateful,  if  such  an  one  should  be  found, 
what  good  would  it  do?  You  cannot  prove  that  if  a  man 
has  received  kindness  from  another  he  ought  to  show 
kindness  in  return.  If  the  person  you  address  does  not 
perceive  it,  at  once,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said  about 
it;  argument  would  be  utterly  unavailing.  In  the  same 
manner,  if  he  sees  it,  but  does  not  feel  it,  you  cannot 
alter  his  heart  by  reasoning. 

There  is  a  mistaken  view  of  mail's  moral  dependence, 
which  in  some  cases  produces  one  very  sad  effect.  Per- 
sons sometimes  think  that  the  power  to  renew  them  is  so 
completely  in  their  Maker's  hands  that  they  must  wait 
for  him  to  exercise  it.  They  seem  to  have  the  impres- 
sion that  God  will  repent  for  them,  and  they  are  looking 
to  him  to  do  it.  Now  this  is  very  evidently  absurd. 
The  Holy  Spirit  will  never  repent /or  you;  no,  never. 
From  the  very  nature  of  things  he  never  can.  You  must 
repent  yourself,  though  if  you  do  it,  it  will  be  in  the  exer- 
cise of  spiritual  power  supplied  from  on  high. 

The  absurdity  of  such  passive  waiting  to  be  acted  upon, 
may  be  well  illustrated,  by  some  of  the  miracles  of  the 
Savior.  A  man,  for  example,  comes  to  Jesus  Christ 
with  a  withered  hand.  It  hangs  lifeless  by  his  side.  It 
is  insensible  and  motionless,  a  symbol  of  the  moral  con- 
dition of  the  human  soul  when  dead  in  sin.  He  asks 
help  from  the  Savior;  and  what  is  the  reply?  '*  Stretch 
forth  thine  hand." 

"  How  can  I  stretch  it  forth?  Its  utter  lifelessness," 
might  the  poor  patient  say  to  the  Savior,  '*  is  the  very 
reason  why  I  bring  it  to  thee.  I  cannot  stretch  it  forth 
unless  its  life  and  power  are  previously  restored." 


310  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10. 

The  man  with  a  withered  hand.  Faults  and  errors. 

"  Stretch  forth  thine  hand,"  is  however  the  command, 
and  though  we  might  gatlier  innumerable  theoretical  diffi- 
culties about  such  a  command,  there  are  none  in  prac- 
tice. The  patient  obeys.  The  very  instant  of  exertion 
on  his  part,  is  the  very  instant  of  returning  life  and 
power.  His  hand  obeys  his  volition.  It  obeys  it  how- 
ever by  a  power  which  a  supernatural  interposition  sup- 
plied. He  could  not  have  raised  his  arm  without  external 
aid,  and  on  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  have  external 
aid,  without  making  the  effort. 

Now  every  per«on,  who,  after  understanding  God's 
commands,  defers  obedience  until  the  power  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  is  exerted  upon  him  to  lead  him  to  do  it,  seems  to 
be  almost  precisely  in  the  condition  of  the  man  with  the 
withered  hand,  if,  after  the  Savior  had  directed  him  to 
stretch  it  forth,  he  had  stood  waiting,  before  he  made 
the  effort,  to  have  life  restored  to  it.  He  must  feel,  he 
thinks,  the  blood  beginning  to  circulate,  and  sensation 
returning,  before  he  has  any  thing  to  do!  His  arm  would, 
in  such  a  case,  remain  withered  for  ever.  So  the  soul 
which  has  sunk  into  the  lethargy  of  waiting  for  God's 
spirit,  may  wait  for  ever  in  vain.  Man  must  repent,  him- 
self He  must  love  God,  himself;  he  must  abandon  sin, 
himself.  God  will  not  do  the  work  for  us;  he  will  only 
infuse  the  spiritual  vitality  by  which  it  is  to  be  done. 

It  is  melancholy  to  observe  that  when  the  word  of 
God,  or  the  obvious  principles  of  duty,  mark  out  a 
straight  course,  man  will  find  devious  and  wandering 
paths,  turning  off  to  the  right  and  to  the  left, —  any  way, 
just  to  avoid  the  narrow  path  of  duty.  One  class  of 
persons,  interested,  or  professing  to  be  interested,  in  the 
question  of  their  salvation,  fold  their  arms  in  quiet  inac- 
tion, waiting,  as  they  say,  for  influences  from  above  to 
lead  them  to  their  duty.  Another,  aroused  perhaps  from 
this  condition,  goes  zealously  to  work  to  purchase  their 
salvation, —  to  fabricate   repentance   and  faith  by  their 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  311 

We  must  be  born  again.  Influences  of  the  Spirit. 

own  power  alone.  Self-confident,  self-sufficient,  and 
filled  with  spiritual  pride,  they  think  to  turn  their  own 
hearts  to  God,  without  receiving  any  new  life  from  him. 
Brought  back  from  their  wanderings  upon  one  side  of 
the  truth,  away  they  go  immediately  upon  the  other,  in 
an  error  as  dangerous,  nay  as  fatal  as  before.  For,  after 
all,  it  makes  little  difference  whether  a  man  gives  up  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  altogether,  or  attempts  to  enter  it 
without  being  born  again.  In  either  case,  he  continues 
dead  in  trespasses  and  sins.  The  difference  is,  that,  in 
the  one,  he  lies  in  acknowledged  lifelessness, —  in  the 
other,  his  cadaverous  form  is  clothed  in  the  garments, 
and  placed  in  the  attitude  of  life;  but  stiffened  limbs,  and 
a  countenance  of  death-like  expression  betray  its  case. 
No,  we  must  be  born  again. 

The  modes  and  forms  which  moral  renewal  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  assumes  in  the  soul  are  innumerable;  and 
the  truths  which  seem  to  be  employed  as  the  means  of 
afl^ecting  the  heart,  are  almost  equally  varied.  All  that 
we  know,  is,  that  while  the  mass  of  mankind  go  on  obsti- 
nately in  sin,  individuals  of  every  possible  character,  and 
in  every  varietyof  circumstances,  do  repent  and  return  to 
duty.  Sometimes  it  is  the  little  child,  knowing  scarcely 
any  thing  but  that  it  has  a  Maker;  again,  it  is  some 
hardened  and  violent  opposer  of  God  and  religion,  who 
throws  down  his  weapons  and  comes  humbled  and 
broken-hearted  to  the  foot  of  the  cross.  Sometimes  one 
well  instructed  in  religious  truth,  and  faithfully  warned 
of  guilt  and  of  danger,  will,  after  years  of  indifference 
and  thoughtlessness,  suddenly  relent  and  come  to  the 
Savior,  and  at  others  whole  communities  will  be  aroused; 
and  though  they  could  before  be  affected  by  no  exhort- 
ations, and  no  remonstrances,  they  will  now  suddenly 
awake,  and  flock  in  crowds  to  the  service  of  God.  The 
Holy  Spirit  can  operate  any  where  and  with  any  means. 
Sometimes  he  whispers  gently  to  a  single  one,  in  soli- 


812  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10 

Various  eflects.  The  narrative.  Such  cai«e8  common 

tude, —  sometimes  he  spreads  solemnity  over  the  crowded 
meeting.  To-day  he  gives  meaning  and  power  to  the 
Scriptures,  as  the  reader,  at  his  lonely  fireside,  seeks 
their  guidance, —  to-morrow  he  indites  a  prayer,  or  gives 
to  reflections  which  have  been  utterly  unable  to  afTcct 
the  heart,  power  to  overwhelm  it  with  emotion,  brings 
up  sins  which  iiave  been  looked  upon  with  cold  uncon- 
cern, in  their  true  character,  and  draws  them  out  before 
the  soul  in  gloomy  array.  He  awakens  conscience,  and 
quickens  the  memory;  he  disrobes  the  world  of  her  allur- 
ing garb,  and  gives  a  spiritual  meaning  to  the  events 
of  Providence.  Life,  seen  by  the  light  which  he 
brings  into  the  soul,  wears  its  own  serious  and  sober 
hue;  eternity  rises, —  its  distant  realities  draw  near, — 
doubts  and  uncertainties  vanish,  and  the  soul  to  which 
this  heavenly  messenger  is  sent,  walks  forth  redeemed 
from  sin,  purified  fiom  pollution,  set  free  from  its  chains, 
—  its  powers  expanded  and  its  aims  and  views  enlarg- 
ed; prepared  henceforth  to  be  a  holy  and  happy  child 
of  God,  instead  of  the  degraded  and  polluted  child  of  sin. 
Now  it  is  aid  like  this  that  Christians  are  to  look  for, 
when  they  endeavor  to  promote  the  cause  of  religion  in 
the  world,  and  it  seems  to  be  rendered  just  in  proportion 
to  the  humility  and  sincerity  and  devotedness  of  the 
efforts  which  are  made.  Bad  feelings  and  sinister  aims 
are  so  often  mingled  with  Christian  zesA,  and  so  often 
assume  its  form,  that  in  ordinary  cases,  we  have  a  sad 
mixture  of  the  fruits  of  genuine  piety,  with  those  of 
hypocrisy  and  sin.  There  is,  however,  such  a  thing  as 
moral  renewal,  by  means  of  unwonted  influences  upon 
human  hearts,  which  the  ordinary  operations  of  the  mind 
cannot  explain.  The  following  narrative  is  not  an  ac- 
count of  a  very  uncommon  case.  It  is  a  specimen  of 
hundreds  which  have  occurred  within  a  few  years  in 
our  land,  and  which  have  been  fully  equal  to  this  in  its 
results.     An  actual  case  like  this,  narrated  particularly, 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTmO   PROMISE.  313 

A  New-England  College.  The  buildings.  The  classes. 

may  give  the  reader  a  more  vivid  conception  of  what 
co-operation  from  above,  Christians  may  expect,  than 
general  remarks  upon  the  promises  which  the  scriptures 
contain.  Such  cases  certainly  afford  a  striking  com- 
mentary upon  the  Savior's  words,  "  Lo  I  am  with  you 
alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." 

THE    COLLEGE    REVIVAL. 

As  probably  but  few  of  my  readers  have  had  oppor- 
tunity to  form  any  acquaintance  with  the  interior  of  a 
New-England  College,  or  with  the  nature  of  college 
life,  I  must  commence  my  narrative  with  a  description 
of  the  place  in  which  the  scene  is  laid. 

The  appearance  which  a  New-England  College  ex- 
hibits to  a  traveller,  is  that  of  a  group  of  large  brick 
buildings,  generally  a  hundred  feet  long,  and  four  stories 
high,  standing  usually  upon  an  eminence,  or  upon  a  level 
plain,  on  the  borders  of  some  quiet  country  village. 
The  buildings  are  connected  with  one  another,  and  ap- 
proached from  various  directions,  by  gravelled  walks, 
and  perhaps,  ornamented  with  shrubbery;  and  cne  among 
them,  distinguished  usually  by  a  form  somewhat  different 
from  the  rest,  and  surmounted  by  a  sort  of  cupola, 
indicates  that  the  whole  constitute  some  public  establish- 
ment, 

A  fresh  admission  of  students  takes  place  in  the  au- 
tumn of  each  year,  consisting  ordinarily  of  young  men, 
from  twenty  years  of  age,  down  to  thirteen.  These  stu- 
dents are  united  into  one  class,  and  commence  one 
course  of  study,  which  extends  through  a  period  of  four 
years.  During  these  four  years,  there  will  of  course  be 
three  more  admissions,  making  four  classes,  and  only 
four  in  the  institution  at  the  same  time. 

The  large  buildings  I  have  alluded  to,  are  divided  into 

rooms,  as  nearly  alike  as  possible; — eight  usually  upon 

a  floor,  and  consequently,  thirty-two  in  all.     Each  one 

of  these  rooms  is  assigned  to  two  of  the  members  of  the 

27 


814  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10. 

The  first  day.  Temptations.  Varieties  of  character. 

class  admitted,  and  it  is  to  be  for  one  year  their  home. 
The  first  day  of  the  collegiate  year,  those  portions  of  the 
building  assigned  to  the  Freshmen,  as  the  last  admitted 
are  called,  exhibit  a  scene  of  very  peculiar  and  striking 
character.  The  bustle  of  preparation, —  moving  in,  and 
putting  up  furniture, —  the  interest  excited  by  the  nov- 
elty of  the  mode  of  life  they  are  now  to  lead,  and  the 
lingering  recollections  of  home,  left  perhaps  for  ever, — 
resolutions  of  diligence  and  fidelity  in  the  course  of  study 
before  them, —  and  the  various  other  feelings  excited  by 
the  new  and  strange  faces  and  objects  around,  all  con- 
spire to  give  to  the  Freshman's  first  day  at  college, 
a  marked  and  striking  character,  and  to  fill  it  with  new 
and  strong  emotions  which  he  never  can  forget. 

In  every  class  there  is  a  large  number  of  youthful 
members,  whose  parents'  situation  in  life  is  such,  that 
they  have  been  the  objects  of  constant  attention  from 
infancy,  and  have  accordingly  been  early  fitted  for  col- 
lege, and  sent  to  the  institution  before  their  minds  are 
sufficiently  matured,  and  their  moral  principles  firmly 
enough  established,  to  resist  the  new  and  strong  tempta- 
tions to  which  they  are  henceforth  to  be  exposed.  Others 
are  older  and  more  mature.  Many  of  these  have  pre- 
pared themselves  for  college  by  their  own  exertions,  and 
have  entered  under  the  influence  of  strong  desires  to 
avail  themselves  of  its  privileges.  In  these  two  classes 
may  be  found  almost  every  variety  of  human  character. 
Every  virtue  and  every  vice  here  exhibit  themselves. 
There  is  infidelity,  cold,  calculating,  malicious  infidelity, 
establishing  her  wretched  reign  in  the  bosoms  of  young 
men  just  opening  into  manhood.  There  is  vice,  secret 
and  open,  of  every  species,  and  in  every  degree.  There 
is  intem.perance  and  profaneness,  and  hatred  of  religion, 
and  an  open  and  reckless  opposition  to  the  cause  of  God 
and  holiness,  scarcely  ever  surpassed-  by  the  animosity 
of  any  veteran  foe. 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  315 

Dangers.  The  progress  of  sin.  Efforts  to  reclaim  a  wanderer. 

The  lines  between  the  enemies  and  the  friends  of  God 
are  thus  drawn  in  college  more  distinctly  than  in  almost 
any  other  community: — and  the  young  and  inexperi- 
enced in  every  new  class,  are  marked  out  by  the  idle, 
dissipated,  and  abandoned,  for  their  prey.  The  victim 
first  listens  to  language  and  sentiments  which  undermine 
his  regard  for  the  principles  of  duty,  and  weaken  those 
cords  which  Christian  parents  had  bound  around  his 
heart,  when  he  left  his  early  home,  and  he  soon  falls 
more  and  more  under  the  influence  of  these  ungodly 
companions.  Half  allured  by  their  persuasions  and 
half  compelled  by  their  rude  intrusions  into  his  room,  he 
spends  the  hours  which  college  laws  allot  to  study,  in 
idle  reading,  or  in  games  of  chance  or  skill.  He  first 
listens  to  ridicule  of  religious  persons,  and  then  joins  in 
it,  and  next  begins  to  ridicule  and  despise  religion  itself. 
The  officers  of  college  do  all  in  their  power  to  arrest 
his  progress.  They  see  the  first  indications  of  his  be- 
ginning to  go  astray,  in  the  neglect  of  his  studies,  and 
in  the  irregularity  of  his  attendance  upon  college  duties; 
and  again  and  again  appoint  one  of  their  number  to 
warn  him,  and  expostulate  with  him,  and  kindly  to  put 
him  on  his  guard.  How  many  such  efforts  have  I  made! 
As  I  write  these  paragraphs,  I  can  recall  these  interviews 
to  mind  with  almost  the  distinctness  of  actual  vision.  A 
short  time  after  sending  the  messenger  for  the  one  who 
was  to  receive  the  friendly  admonition,  I  would  hear  his 
timid  rap  at  the  door.  He  would  enter  with  a  look  of 
mingled  guilt,  fear,  and  shame,  or  sometimes  with  a  step 
and  countenance  of  assumed  assurance.  How  many 
times  in  such  circumstances,  have  I  tried  in  vain  to  gain 
access  to  the  heart!  I  have  endeavored  to  draw  him 
into  conversation  about  his  father  and  mother,  and  the 
scenes  of  home  and  childhood,  that  I  might  insensibly 
awaken  recollections  of  the  past,  and  bring  back  long 
lost  feelings,  and  reunite  broken  ties.     I  have  tried  to 


316  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10 

Daily  college  life.  Morning.  Tlie  prayer  bell. 

lead  him  to  anticipate  the  future,  and  see  the  dangers  of 
idleness,  dissipation,  and  vice.  I  have  endeavored  to 
draw  forth  and  encourage  the  feehle  resolution,  and  by 
sympathy,  and  kindness,  and  promises  of  aid,  to  bring 
back  the  wanderer  to  duty  and  to  happiness.  He  would 
listen  in  cold  and  respectful  silence,  and  go  away  un- 
changed; perhaps,  to  make  a  few  feeble  resolutions, 
soon  to  be  forgotten;  but  more  probably  to  turn  into 
ridicule  the  moral  lecture,  as  he  would  cull  it,  which  he 
had  received;  and  to  go  on,  with  a  little  more  caution 
and  secrecy  perhaps,  but  with  increased  hardihood  and 
rapidity,  in  the  course  of  sin. 

In  many  cases,  college  censures  and  punishments 
frequently  follow,  until  expulsion  closes  the  story.  In 
other  cases,  the  individuals  conceal  their  guilt,  while 
they  become  more  and  more  deeply  involved  in  it,  and 
more  and  more  hardened.  They  associate  Avith  one 
another,  and  at  length,  in  some  cases,  form  a  little  com- 
munity where  ungodliness,  infidelity,  and  open  sin,  have 
confirmed  an  unquestioned  sway. 

I  must  say  a  word  or  two  now  in  regard  to  the  ordi- 
nary routine  of  daily  life  at  college,  in  order  that  the 
description  which  is  to  follow,  may  be  better  understood. 
Very  early  in  the  morning,  the  observer  may  see  lights 
at  a  few  of  the  windows  of  the  buildings  inhabited  by 
the  students.  They  mark  the  rooms  occupied  by  the 
more  industrious  or  more  resolute,  who  rise  and  devote 
an  hour  or  two  to  their  books  by  lamp-light  on  the  winter 
mornings.  About  day,  the  bell  awakens  the  multitude 
of  sleepers  in  all  the  rooms,  and  in  a  short  time  they  are 
to  be  seen  issuing  from  the  various  doors,  with  sleepy 
looks,  and  with  books  under  their  arms,  and  some  adjust- 
ing their  hurried  dress.  The  first  who  come  down,  go 
slowly,  others  with  quicker  and  quicker  step,  as  the  toll- 
ing of  the  bell  proceeds: — and  the  last  few  stragglers 
run  with  all  speed,  to  secure  their  places  before  the  bell 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  317 

Morning  prayers.  Recitations.  Tlie  breakfast  hour. 

ceases  to  toll.  When  the  last  stroke  is  sounded,  it 
usually  finds  one  or  two  too  late,  who  stop  short  sudden- 
ly, and  return  slowly  to  their  rooms. 

The  President  or  one  of  the  Professors  reads  a  por- 
tion of  Scripture  by  the  mingled  light  of  the  pulpit 
lamps,  and  the  beams  which  come  in  from  the  reddening 
eastern  sky.  He  then  offers  the  morning  prayer.  The 
hundreds  of  young  men  before  him  exhibit  the  appear- 
ance of  respectful  attention,  except  that  four  or  five, 
appointed  for  the  purpose,  in  different  parts  of  the  chap- 
el, are  looking  carefully  around  to  observe  and  note  upon 
their  bills,  the  absentees.  A  tew  also,  not  fearing  God 
or  regarding  their  duty,  conceal  under  their  cloaks,  or 
behind  a  pillar  or  a  partition  between  the  pews,  the  book 
which  contains  their  morning  lesson: — and  attempt  to 
m^ke  up,  as  well  as  the  faint  but  increasing  light  will 
enable  them,  for  the  time  wasted  in  idleness  or  dissipa- 
tion on  the  evening  before.  When  prayers  are  over  the 
several  classes  repair  immediately  to  the  rooms  assigned 
respectively  to  them,  and  recite  the  first  lesson  of  the 
day. 

During  the  short  period  which  elapses  between  the 
recitation  and  the  breakfast  bell,  college  is  a  busy  scene. 
Fires  are  kindling  in  every  room.  Groups  are  standing 
in  every  corner,  or  hovering  around  the  newly-made 
fires: — parties  are  running  up  and  down  the  stairs  two 
steps  at  a  time,  with  the  ardor  and  activity  of  youth: — 
and  now  and  then,  a  fresh  crowd  is  seen  issuing  from  the 
door  of  some  one  of  the  buildings,  where  a  class  has 
finished  its  recitation,  and  comes  forth  to  disperse  to 
their  rooms; — followed  by  their  instructor,  who  walks 
away  to  his  house  in  the  village.  The  breakfast  bell 
brings  out  the  whole  throng  again,  and  gathers  them 
around  the  long  tables  in  the  Common's  Hall,  or  else 
scatters  them  among  the  private  families  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

27* 


318  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10. 

Study  hours.         Tlie  idle  and  negligent.         Tlie  afternoon.         Evening. 

An  hour  after  breakfast  the  bell  rings,  to  mark  the 
commencement  of  study-hours: — when  the  students  are 
required  by  college  laws  to  repair  to  their  respective 
rooms,  which  answer  the  three -fold  purpose  of  parlor, 
bed-room,  and  study,  to  prepare  for  their  recitation  at 
eleven  o'clock.  They,  however,  who  choose  to  evade  this 
law,  can  do  it  without  much  danger  of  detection.  The 
great  majority  comply,  but  some  go  into  their  neighbors' 
rooms  to  receive  assistance  in  their  studies,  some  lay 
aside  the  dull  text-book,  and  read  a  tale,  or  play  a  game: 
and  others,  farther  gone  in  the  road  of  idleness  and  dis- 
sipation, steal  secretly  away  from  college,  and  ramble 
in  the  woods,  or  skate  upon  the  ice,  or  find  some  ren- 
dezvous of  dissipation  in  the  village,  evading  their  tasks 
like  truant  boys.  They,  of  course,  are  marked  as  ab- 
sent; but  pretended  sickness  will  answer  for  an  excuse, 
they  think,  once  or  twice,  and  they  go  on,  blind  to  the 
certainty  of  the  disgrace  and  ruin,  which  must  soon 
come. 

The  afternoon  is  spent  like  the  forenoon,  and  the  last 
recitation  of  the  winter's  day,  is  just  before  the  sun  goes 
down.  An  hour  is  allotted  to  it,  and  then  follow  evening 
prayers,  at  the  close  of  which  the  students  issue  from 
the  chapel,  and  walk  in  long  procession  to  supper. 

It  is  in  the  evening,  however,  that  the  most  striking 
peculiarities  of  college  life,  exhibit  themselves.  Some- 
thnes  literary  societies  assemble,  organized  and  man- 
aged by  the  students,  where  they  hold  debates,  or 
entertain  each  other  with  declamations,  essays,  and 
dialogues.  Sometimes  a  religious  meeting  is  held,  at- 
tended by  a  portion  of  the  professors  of  religion,  and 
conducted  by  an  officer;  at  other  times  the  students 
remain  in  their  rooms,  some  quietly  seated  by  their  fire, 
one  OQ  each  side,  reading,  writing,  or  preparing  the 
lessons  for  the  following  morning: — others  assemble  for 
mirth  apd  dissipation,  or  prowl  around  the  entries  and 


Ch.   10.]  THE   PARTING   PROMISE.  319 

College  mischief.  Frequent  consequences.  Efforts  of  the  officers. 

hallSj  to  perpetrate  petty  mischief,  breaking  the  windows 
of  some  hapless  Freshman, —  or  burning  nauseous  drugs 
at  the  keyhole  of  his  door, —  or  rolling  logs  down  stairs, 
and  running  instantly  into  a  neighboring  room  so  as  to 
escape  detection; — or  watching  at  an  upper  window  to 
pour  water  unobserved  upon  some  fellow  student  passing 
in  or  out  below; — or  plugging  up  the  keyhole  of  the 
chapel  door,  to  prevent  access  to  it  for  morning  prayers; 
—  or  gaining  access  to  the  bell  by  false  keys,  and  cutting 
the  rope,  or  fiUing  it  with  water  to  freeze  during  the 
night:— or  some  other  of  the  thousand  modes  of  doing 
mischief  to  which  the  idle  and  flexible  Sophomore  is  in- 
stigated by  some  calculating,  and  malicious  mischief- 
maker  in  a  higher  class.  After  becoming  tired  of  this, 
they  gather  together  in  the  room  of  some  dissolute  com- 
panion, and  there  prepare  themselves  a  supper,  with 
food  they  have  plundered  from  a  neighboring  poultry 
yard,  and  utensils  obtained  in  some  similar  mode.  Ar- 
dent spirit  sometimes  makes  them  noisy; — and  a  col- 
lege ofl[icer,  at  half  past  nine,  breaks  in  upon  them,  and 
exposure  and  punishment  are  the  consequences; — dis- 
grace, suspension,  and  expulsion  for  themselves,  and 
bleeding  hearts  for  parents  and  sisters  at  home.  At 
other  times,  with  controlled  and  restrained  indulgence, 
they  sit  till  midnight,  sowing  the  bitter  seeds  of  vice; 
undermining  health,  destroying  all  moral  sensibility,  and 
making  almost  sure  the  ruin  of  their  souls. 

In  the  meantime,  the  ofiicers  of  the  institution,  with  a 
fidelity  and  an  anxious  interest,  which  is  seldom  equalled 
by  any  solicitude  except  that  which  is  felt  by  parents  for 
their  children,  struggle  to  resist  the  tide.  They  watch, 
they  observe,  they  have  constant  records  kept,  and  in 
fact,  they  go  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  go,  in  obtain- 
ing information  about  the  character  and  history  of  each 
individual,  without  adopting  a  system  of  espionage, 
which  the  nature  of  the   institution,  and  the  age  of  a 


S30  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [CFl,    10. 

Their  fruitlessness.  AmherBt  College  in  April  1827. 

majority  of  the  pupils,  renders  neither  practicable  nor 
proper.  They  warn  every  individual  who  seems  to  be  in 
danger,  with  greater  and  greater  distinctness,  according 
to  the  progress  he  seems  to  be  making,  and  as  soon  as 
evidence  will  justify  it,  they  remove  every  one  whose 
stay  seems  dangerous  to  the  rest;  but  still  the  evil  will 
increase,  in  spite  of  all  the  ordinary  human  means, 
which  can  be  brought  against  it. 

Such  is  college,  and  such  substantially  was  the  con- 
dition of  Amherst  College,  in  April,  1827,  at  the  time  of 
my  narrative.  Faithful  religious  instruction  was  given 
on  the  Sabbath,  at  the  chapel,  where  the  students  were 
required  to  attend,  and  we  were  accustomed  to  hold  also, 
a  meeting  for  familiar  religious  instruction  one  evening 
during  the  week.  At  this  meeting,  however,  scarcely 
any  were  present; — a  small  portion  of  the  actual  menv- 
bers  of  the  church  were  accustomed  to  attend,  but  never 
any  one  else.  If  a  single  individual,  not  professedly  a 
Christian,  had  come  in,  for  a  single  evening,  it  would 
have  been  noticed  as  a  rare  occurrence,  and  talked  of 
by  the  officers  as  something  unexpected  and  extraor- 
dinary. Our  hearts  ached,  and  our  spirits  sunk  within 
us,  to  witness  the  coldness  and  hardness  of  heart  towards 
God  and  duty,  which  reigned  among  so  large  a  num- 
ber of  our  pupils.  Every  private  effort  which  we  could 
make  with  individuals,  entirely  failed,  and  we  could  see 
too,  that  those  who  professed  to  love  the  Savior,  were 
rapidly  losing  their  interest  in  his  cause,  and  becoming 
engrossed  in  literary  ambition  and  college  rivalry,  dis- 
honoring God's  cause,  and  gradually  removing  every 
obstacle  to  the  universal  prevalence  of  vice  and  sin. 

There  was  then  in  college,  a  young  man,  who  had 
been  among  the  foremost  in  his  opposition  to  religion. 
His  talents  and  his  address  gave  him  a  great  deal  of  per- 
sonal influence,  which  was  of  such  a  character  as  to  be 
a  constant  source  of  solicitude  to  the  government.     He 


Ch.   10.]  THE   PARTING   PROMISE.  321 

A  student.  Letter  to  the  author.  Writer's  account  of  the  condition  of  college. 

was  repeatedly  involved  in  difficulties  with  the  officers 
on  account  of  his  transgressions  of  the  College  laws, 
and  so  well  known  were  his  feelings  on  the  subject,  that 
when  at  a  government  meeting,  during  the  progress  of 
the  revival,  we  were  told  with  astonishment,  by  the  Pres- 
ident, that  this  young  man  was  suffering  great  distress  on 
account  of  his  sins,  it  was  supposed  by  one  of  the  officers, 
that  it  must  be  all  a  pretence,  feigned  to  deceive  the 
President,  and  make  sport  for  his  companions.  The 
President  did  not  reply  to  the  suggestion,  but  went  to 
visit  him;  and  when  I  next  saw  him,  he  said,  "  There's 
no  pretence  there.  If  the  Spirit  of  God  is  not  at  work 
upon  his  heart,  I  know  nothing  about  the  agency  of  the 
Spirit." 

That  young  man  is  now  the  pastor  of  a  church,  active 
and  useful,  and  when  commencing  this  narrative,  I  wrote 
to  him  to  send  me  such  reminiscences  of  this  scene  as 
might  remain  upon  his  mind.     He  writes  me  thus. 

"  Very  dear  Sir, 

"  My  obligations  to  you  as  a  friend  and  instructer 
make  me  anxious  to  fulfil  my  promise  of  drawing  up  a 
sketch  of  the  revival  at  Amherst  College,  during  the  last 
two  or  three  weeks  of  April,  1827.  I  have  been  delayed 
partly  by  sickness,  and  the  unusual  pressure  of  duties 
here,  partly  by  the  difficulty  of  settling  in  my  mind 
a  clear  idea  of  what  you  wish,  and  partly  by  the  impos- 
sibility of  reviving  the  memory  of  facts  and  impressions 
in  the  exact  order  of  their  occurrence.  If  this  commu- 
nication should  reach  you  too  late  to  answer  your  pur- 
pose, it  will  at  least  prove  my  wish  to  yield  you  such 
assistance  as  I  may. 

"For  a  considerable  time  previous,  the  subject  of 
religion  in  college  had  fallen  into  great  neglect; — even 
the  outward  forms  were  very  faintly  observed.  During 
nearly  two  years  in  which  I  had  been  connected  with 


322  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   10. 

Animosities  and  irreguhirities.  The  President's  efTurts. 

the  college,  I  had  never  heard  the  subject  mentioned 
among  the  students,  except  as  matter  of  reproach  and 
ridicule.  At  least  this  is  true,  so  far  as  my  intercourse 
with  the  students  was  concerned.  Those  who  professed 
piety,  cither  through  timidity  or  unconcern,  seemed  to  let 
the  subject  rest,  and  were  chiefly  devoted  to  indolence, 
or  literary  ambition.  But  while  religion  was  shamed  and 
fugitive,  irreligion  was  bold  and  free.  A  majority  of  the 
students  were  avowedly  destitute  of  piety ;  and  of  these 
a  large  portion  were  open  or  secret  infidels;  and  mjiny 
went  to  every  length  they  could  reach,  of  levity,  pro- 
faneness,  and  dissipation.  So  many  animosities  and 
irregularities  prevailed,  as  to  endanger  the  general  repu- 
tation of  the  seminary. 

**  Some  of  the  students  who  were  difTerently  situated 
from  myself,  may  perhaps  have  noticed  preparatory 
movements  on  the  common  mass  of  mind,  indicating  an 
undercurrent  of  feeling,  gradually  gaining  strength,  and 
preparing  the  community  for  the  results  which  were  to 
follow.  But  I  saw  none; — and  none  such  could  have 
been  generally  apparent.  Upon  myself,  the  change 
opened  with  as  much  suddenness  as  power." 

I  here  interrupt,  for  a  moment,  the  narrative  of  my 
friend,  to  mention  all  the  indications  which  I,  myself, 
or  my  brother  officers  perceived.  The  President,  with 
faithfulness,  and  plainness,  urged  upon  the  professors 
of  religion,  their  duties  and  their  neglect,  and  held  up 
to  them  the  evidences  that  they  were,  as  a  body,  wan- 
dering from  duty,  and  becoming  unfaithful  to  their  trust. 
But  he  had  done  this,  often,  before.  In  fact,  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  doing  it.  The  difference  seemed  to  be,  that 
though  heretofore  they  would  listen  with  stupid  coldness, 
and  go  away  unchanged, —  now  they  suddenly  seemed 
inspired  with  a  disposition  to  hear,  and  with  a  heart  to 
feel.     They  began  to  come  in  greater  numbers  to  the 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE,  323 

Their  success.  Attention  arrested.  Interest  at  the  chapeL 

meetings  appointed  for  them,  and  to  listen  with  silent 
solemnity  to  warnings  and  expostulations  which  had  been 
always  unheeded  before.  All  the  efforts  which  were 
made  were  aimed  at  leading  Christ's  followers  to  peni- 
tence, and  at  bringing  them  back  to  duty.  And  though 
it  had  been  impossible  before,  it  was  perfectly  easy  now; 
and  while  this  very  work  was  going  on, —  actually  before 
the  time  had  come  for  thinking  of  the  others, —  they  be- 
gan spontaneously,  or  at  least,  to  all  appearance  without 
human  exertion,  to  tremble  for  themselves.  The  officers 
and  the  religious  students  were  astonished  day  after  day 
to  find  numbers  whom  no  faithfulness  of  expostulation 
had  hitherto  been  able  to  affect  at  all,  now  coming,  of 
their  own  accord,  and  asking  for  help  and  direction ;, 
trembling  with  anxiety  and  remorse  on  account  of  their 
past  sins,  and  with  fear  of  God's  displeasure.  But  to 
return  to  my  correspondent. 

"  The  first  circumstance  which  attracted  my  attention 
was  a  sermon  from  the  President,  on  the  Sabbath.  I  do 
not  know  what  the  text  and  subject  were,  for  according 
to  a  wicked  habit,  I  had  been  asleep  till  near  its  close. 
I  seemed  to  be  awakened  by  a  silence,  which  pervaded 
the  room:  a  deep  solemn  attention  which  seems  to  spread 
over  an  assembly  when  all  are  completely  engrossed  in 
some  absorbing  theme.  I  looked  around,  astonished, 
and  the  feeling  of  profound  attention  seemed  to  settle  on 
myself.  I  looked  towards  the  President,  and  saw  him 
calm  and  collected,  but  evidently  most  deeply  interested 
in  what  he  was  saying, —  his  whole  soul  engaged,  and 
his  countenance  beaming  with  an  expression  of  eager 
earnestness,  which  lighted  up  all  his  features,  and  gave 
to  his  language  unusual  energy  and  power. 

*'  What  could  this  mean?  I  had  never  seen  a  speaker 
and  his  audience  so  engaged.  He  was  making  a  most 
earnest  appeal  to  prevent  those  who  were  destitute  of 


324  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    ICL 

Impression.  Singular  plan  adopted  by  the  student* 

religion  themselves ^  from  doing  any  thing  to  obstruct  the 
progress  of  the  revival  which  he  hoped  was  approach- 
ing—  or  of  doing  any  thing  to  prevent  the  salvation  of 
others,  even  if  they  did  not  desire  salvation  for  them- 
selves. He  besought  them,  by  all  the  interests  of  im- 
mortality, and  for  the  sake  of  themselves,  and  of  their 
companions,  to  desist  from  hostilities  against  the  work 
of  God. 

"  The  discourse  closed,  and  we  dispersed.  But  many 
of  us  carried  away  the  arrow  in  our  hearts.  The  gayest 
and  the  hardiest  trembled  at  the  manifest  approach  of 
a  sublime  and  unwonted  influence.  Among  some  who 
might  have  been  expected  to  raise  the  front  of  opposition, 
I  resolved  not  to  do  it,  but  to  let  it  take  its  course: — 
keeping  away  from  its  influence,  without  doing  any  thing 
to  oppose  it;   but  neutrality  was  impossible." 

I  must  interrupt  the  narrative  of  the  letter  again,  to 
explain  a  circumstance  which  I  perceive  is  alluded  to 
in  the  next  paragraph.  About  a  year  before  this  time, 
there  had  been  similar  indications  of  a  returning  sense 
of  duty  to  God,  among  the  students.  The  officers  were 
much  encouraged,  but  our  hopes  were  all  dispelled  by 
the  success  of  a  manoeuvre,  which  is  so  characteristic 
of  college  life  and  manners  that  I  will  describe  it.  The 
plan  adopted  by  the  enemies  of  religion  was  to  come  up 
boldly,  and  face  the  awakening  interest,  and^  as  it  were, 
brave  it  down.  The  first  indication  of  this  design  which 
I  perceived  was  this.  I  had  been  invited  by  the  serious 
portion  of  the  students  to  address  them  one  Saturday 
evening  in  a  recitation  room.  I  took  my  seat  in  the 
great  armed-chair  which  had  been  placed  for  me  in  a  cor- 
ner with  a  bible  and  hymn-book  on  the  oval  leaf  attach- 
ed to  it,  whose  form  and  fashion  any  collegian  will  re- 
collect, when  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked,  one  after 
another,  six  or  eight  of  the  most  bold,  hardened,  noto- 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  325 

The  evening  meeting.        The  intruders.        An  enemy  turned  to  a  friend. 

rious  enemies  of  religion  which  the  institution  contained. 
They  walked  in,  took  their  seats,  in  a  row  directly  before 
me,  and  looked  me  in  the  face, —  saying  by  their  coun- 
tenances most  distinctly,  '  Sir,  we  defy  you,  and  all  your 
religion:' — and  yet,  it  was  with  that  peculiar  address, 
with  which  a  wild  college  student  can  execute  his  plans, 
so  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  breach  of  any  rule  of 
external  propriety,  or  any  tangible  evidence  of  intention- 
al disrespect.  Not  one  of  them  had,  perhaps,  ever  been 
voluntarily  in  a  religious  meeting  at  college  before,  and 
every  one  in  the  room  knew  it.  I  can  see  the  leader 
now,  as  distinctly  as  if  he  was  before  me: —  his  tall  form, 
manly  countenance,  and  energetic  look.  He  maintain- 
ed his  ground  as  the  enemy  of  God  and  religion,  for  a 
year  after  this  time: — but  then,  that  is  at  the  time  des- 
cribed in  my  letter,  his  eyes  were  opened:  he  prayed 
with  agony  of  spirit,  hour  after  hour,  in  his  open  room, 
for  forgiveness;  and  now  he  is  in  a  foreign  land  preach- 
ing to  pagans  the  Savior,  whom  I  vainly  endeavored  on 
this  occasion  to  bring  to  him.  I  do  not  know  whether 
this  description  will  ever  reach  him;  if  it  does,  he  will  re- 
member the  meeting  in  the  Freshman  recitation  room, — 
and  be  as  bold /or  God  now,  as  he  was  then  against  him. 
He  has  been  so  already. 

After  a  few  similar  efforts  to  this,  the  irreligious  party, 
for  it  is  almost  a  trained  and  organized  party,  determined 
to  carry  their  system  farther  still.  They  accordingly 
formed  a  plan  for  a  religious  meeting  from  which  every 
friend  of  religion  should  be  excluded.  They  circulated 
the  information  among  themselves,  taking  special  pains 
to  secure  the  attendance  of  every  one,  and  then,  one 
evening,  after  prayers,  as  the  officers  were  coming  out 
of  the  chapel,  one  of  them  was  astonished  at  being  ac- 
costed by  two  well-known  enemies  of  every  thing  like 
piety,  who  appeared,  as  they  said,  from  some  of  their 
friends,  as  a  committee  to  invite  him  to  attend  a  religious 
28 


926  THE    COUNER-STONE.  [Ch.    lOl 

A  strange  assembly.  Success  of  a  bad  desi^Ok 

meeting  that  evening.  Tlie  officer  promised  to  come; 
and  when,  after  tea,  he  repaired  to  the  room,  he  found  it 
crowded  with  persons  whose  faces  he  had  never  seen  at 
a  voluntary  meeting  before.  Tlicre  tlioy  sat,  the  idle, 
the  dissipated,  the  profane,  and  the  hater  and  despiser 
of  God;  there  were  also  numerous  others,  moral  and 
well-disposed,  but  regardless  of  religious  duty;  but  not 
a  single  one  whom  he  had  been  accustomed  to  see  in 
such  a  room,  for  such  a  purpose,  was,  on  this  occasion, 
allowed  to  be  there. 

The  officer  addressed  them  faithfully  and  plainly, 
urging  their  duties  and  their  sins  upon  their  consid- 
eration, while  they  sat  still,  in  respectful  but  heartless 
silence;  looking  intently  upon  him,  with  an  expression 
of  countenance  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Here  we  all  are, 
move  us  if  you  can."  And  they  conquered.  They  went 
home  unmoved;  and  all  the  indications  of  increasing 
seriousness,  soon  disappeared.  They  continued  to  as- 
semble for  several  weeks,  inviting  the  officers  in  succes- 
sion to  be  present,  and  at  last,  the  few  who  remained, 
conducted  the  meetings  themselves,  with  burlesqued 
sermons,  and  mock  prayers,  and  closed  the  scries  at  last, 
as  I  have  been  informed,  by  bringing  in  an  ignorant 
black  man,  whose  presence  and  assistance  completed  the 
victory  they  had  gained  over  influences  from  above.  All 
this  took  place  the  year  before,  and  it  is  to  these  circum- 
stances that  the  next  paragraph  in  the  letter  alludes. 

"  It  was  probably  with  an  intention  somewhat  similar 
to  that  which  prompted  the  meetings  which  the  irreligious 
students  held  by  themselves  the  year  before,  that  the 
following  plan  was  formed.  A  student  who  was  tem- 
porarily my  room-mate  importuned  me  to  invite  one  of 
the  tutors  to  conduct  a  religious  meeting  at  my  room.  I 
told  him  I  would,  if  he  would  obtain  the  promise  of  cer- 
tain   individuals,  ten    in  number,  whom  I  named,    that 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  327 

The  Hebrew  Bible.  The  President's  visit  to  the  awakened  student. 

they  would  attend.  I  selected  such  individuals  as  I  was 
confident  would  not  consent  to  be  present.  In  a  short 
time,  he  surprised  me  with  the  information,  that  he  had 
seen  them  all,  and  that  they  had  consented  to  the  pro- 
posal. Of  course,  I  was  obliged,  though  reluctantly, 
to  request  the  tutor  to  hold  such  a  meeting.  Most  of  us 
repaired  to  the  place,  at  the  appointed  time,  with  feel- 
ings of  levity,  or  of  bitter  hostility  to  religion.  My  room- 
mate had  waggishly  placed  a  Hebrew  Bible  on  the  stand. 
Whether  this  circumstance,  or  the  character  of  his  audi- 
tory, suggested  the  subject  which  the  tutor  chose,  I  know 
not: — but  after  opening  the  meeting  with  prayer,  he  en- 
tered into  a  defence  of  the  divine  authority  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  from  external,  and  internal  evidence,  which  he 
maintained  in  the  most  convincing  manner;  and  then,  on 
the  strength  of  this  authority,  he  urged  its  promises  and 
denunciations  upon  us  as  sinners.  The  effect  was  very 
powerful.  Several  retired  deeply  impressed,  and  all  were 
made  more  serious,  and  better  prepared  to  be  influenced 
by  the  truth.  So  that  this  affair  '  fell  out,  rather  to  the 
furtherance  of  the  Gospel,' 

"My  own  interest  in  the  subject  rapidly  increased,  and 
one  day,  while  secluded  in  my  apartment,  and  overwhelm- 
ed with  conflicting  emotions  of  pride  and  despair,  I  was 
surprised  by  a  visit  from  the  President.  He  informed 
me  that  he  had  come  with  the  hope  of  dissuading  me 
from  doing  amj  thing  to  hinder  the  progress  of  the  revival. 
After  intimating  that  he  need  feel  no  apprehensions  on 
that  point,  I  confessed  to  him  with  difficulty  the  agitation 
of  my  thoughts.  Apparently  much  affected,  he  only 
said,  'Ah,  I  was  afraid  you  would  never  have  such  feel- 
ings.' After  remaining  silent  a  few  minutes,  he  en- 
gaged in  prayer,  and  retired,  advising  me  to  attend  a 
certain  meeting  of  my  class-mates  for  prayer.  I  felt 
very  much  like  the  Syrian  general  when  offended  by  the 
supposed  neglect  of  the  prophet ;  for  I  thought  he  would 


SS8  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.     10. 

The  mother.      Her  sun's  letters.      The  christian  mother's  eacouragerocnt. 

have  seized  the  opportunity  to  do  some  great  thing  for 
the  relief  of  my  laboring  mind. 

**  With  feelings  still  more  excited  I  repaired  to  one  of 
my  class-mates,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the 
most  consistent  Christians  among  us.  I  asked  him,  with 
tears,  to  tell  me  what  I  should  do  to  be  saved.  He  too 
betrayed  his  wonder,  and  only  resorted  to  prayer  with 
me,  in  which  he  could  do  little,  but  say,  '  Jesus,  thou 
son  of  David,  have  mercy  onus.'  Long  afterwards,  I 
learned  that  when  he  left  me,  to  join  a  circle  assembled 
that  evening  for  prayer,  he  told  them  that  my  inquiry 
for  the  way  of  salvation,  made  him  feel  as  if  he  needed 
to  learn  it  himself" 

The  writer  of  the  narrative  which  I  have  been  trans- 
cribing, had  then  a  mother:  she  has  since  gone  home. 
She  was  a  widow,  and  he  her  only  child.  She  was  a 
Christian  too,  and  her  heart  was  oppressed,  and  her  life 
saddened,  by  the  character  and  conduct  of  her  son.  He 
wrote  to  her  at  this  time,  and  among  her  papers  after  her 
death,  he  found  his  letters,  and  has  sent  them  to  me.  I 
wish  I  could  put  them,  just  as  they  are,  into  this  descrip- 
tion;—  tattered  and  torn  with  frequent  perusal.  Those 
widowed  and  lonely  mothers  among  my  readers,  whose 
lives  are  imbittered  by  the  impiety  and  wild  irregularity 
of  an  unconverted  son,  will  understand  the  feelings  which 
led  her,  literally  to  wear  these  letters  out,  with  repeated 
readings.  As  they  read  them,  let  them  look  to  God,  and 
take  courage,  and  remember  that  it  is  never  too  late  to 
pray,  and  never  too  late  for  God  to  answer  prayer. 

In  the  first  letter,  he  informs  his  mother  of  the  indications 
of  a  general  awakening  to  an  interest  in  religion  among 
the  students,  and  expresses  a  considerable  personal  in- 
terest in  it.  "  For  the  sake  of  the  institution,  of  religion, 
and  for  my  own  sake,  I  feel  most  anxious  that  the  work 
may  go  on  with  power      With  what  joy  wou^ld  I  inform 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  329 

Suspense  relieved.  The  young  convert's  narrative. 

you,  that  I  felt  the  strivings  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  my 
breast.  But  I  can  only  say,  that  I  feel  a  growing  sense 
of  humiliation  for  sin.  May  it  ripen  into  conviction, 
sincere  repentance,  and  unfeigned  dedication  of  my 
heart,  soul  and  powers  to  God."  He  then  asked  for  his 
mother's  prayers,  and  thanks  her  for  all  her  past  kind- 
ness to  him. 

The  anxious  suspense  which  this  letter  must  have 
occasioned  to  the  parent  who  received  it,  was  dispelled  a 
few  days  afterwards  by  the  following.  Before  perusing 
it,  I  wish  the  reader  would  look  around,  in  the  village 
or  town,  where  he  resides,  fix  his  mind  upon  the  leader 
in  all  the  opposition  to  God  and  religion,  which  is  made 
there ;  some  man  of  accomplished  manners  and  address, 
superior  intellect,  and  extensive  influence, —  and  the 
open  and  avowed  opposer  of  piety,  and  all  of  its  profes- 
sors. You  must  have  such  a  man  in  mind  as  the  writer, 
in  order  to  appreciate  it  at  all.  Then  recollect  that  this 
is  from  an  only  son  to  a  widowed  Christian  mother, — 
transcribed  exactly  from  the  tattered  fragments  which  I 
now  carefully  put  together. 

"  Amherst  College,  April  28,  1827. 
"My  dearest  Mother, 

"  Where  shall  I  find  words  to  declare  the  wonders  of  redeeniing 
love  ?  Even  in  my  tow  state,  Almighty  God  has  not  forgotten  me, 
nor  the  prayers  of  my  pious  friends.  How  can  I  describe  the  peace 
of  mind,  the  swelling,  overwhelming  tide  of  joy  which  results  from 
an  entire  submission  to  a  merciful  God  ?  I  can  only  say,  that  there 
is  no  happiness  like  the  happiness  of  a  heart  devoted  to  the  holy 
pleasure  of  its  Maker;  no  peace,  like  the  peace  of  a  mind  that  is 
reconciled  to  God.  At  the  beginning  of  the  present  week,  my 
attention  was  strongly  directed  to  the  importance  of  the  soul.  I 
immediately  relinquished  all  other  business,  and  devoted  myself  to 
this.  My  sense  of  the  justice  and  excellence  of  the  divine  law,  of 
the  holiness  of  God,  and  my  own  dreadful  and  sinful  condition 
rapidly  increased.  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  my  distress  and  anxie- 
ty grew  more  and  more  overpowering.  Under  the  alarming  im 
pression  that  I  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin,  I  devoted  great 
28* 


830  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   10. 

Narrative  continued. 

and  anxious  inquiry  to  the  nature  of  it.  When  I  found  reason  to 
believe  that  this  sin  could  not  be  brought  up  against  me,  there 
seemed  to  be  a  gleam  of  hope.  I  felt,  or  rather  learned  that  I  must 
be  wlu)lly  resigned  to  the  will  of  God,  yet  there  was  great  opposition 
in  my  heart.  For  a  long  time  it  seemed  as  if  I  would  readily  sub- 
mit if  I  was  only  sure  of  pardon.  1  was  making  conditions  and 
struggling  against  impressions,  and  became  almost  desperate,  believ- 
ing that  my  guilt  had  shut  up  every  avenue  of  hope.  The  conflict 
had  prostrated  my  strength,  and  could  not  have  been  maintained 
much  longer,  when  1  was  led  to  compare  my  situation  with  that  of 
the  lepers  at  the  gate  of  Samaria,  when  that  city  was  besieged  by  the 
Syrians:  'if  they  save  us  alive,  we  shall  live;  and  if  they  kill  us, 
we  shall  but  die.'  If  I  continued  to  hold  out  against  God,  I  should 
surely  be  cut  off,  and  that  without  remedy ;  if  I  surrendered  myself 
unconditionally,  and  with  an  undivided  heart,  I  still  could  but  die, 
while  there  was  every  reason  to  hope  that  God  would  not  reject  a 
heart  offered  in  sincerity  and  truth.  Accordingly  I  struggled  to 
obtain  this  frame  of  mind,  and  at  length,  as  I  hope,  subdued  my 
pride  and  hostility,  so  as  to  melt  into  perfect  submission  to  the  will 
of  God,  heartily  to  confess  the  holiness  and  justice  of  the  law,  and 
freely  acknowledge  my  own  unworthiness.  After  I  had  been  ena- 
bled by  the  divine  blessing  to  do  this,  it  seemed  so  reasonable,  so 
altogether  necessary  and  even  so  easy,  that  I  marvelled  at  the  blind- 
ness, and  hardness  of  heart,  that  h^i  prevented  my  doing  it  long 
since.  At  the  same  time,  I  was  filled  with  such  transport,  that  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  never  could  leave  the  foot  of  the  cross  ;  as  if  I 
wished  to  retire  from  the  world,  to  meditate  and  reflect  on  the  love- 
liness of  Christ.  This  happy  change  took  place  about  Thursday 
noon.  The  period  of  my  greatest  mental  distress  was  Wednesday 
night.  Nature  was  so  exhausted  in  a  conflict  of  a  few  hours,  that 
I  could  scarcely  stand.  I  found  it  impossible  to  eat  during  a  great 
part  of  this  time.  The  flesh  is  still  weak,  but  I  rapidly  recovered 
strength  as  I  gained  peace.  I  now  for  the  first  time  realize  what  is 
meant  by  saying,  that '  old  things  are  passed  away  and  all  things 
become  new.'  I  no  longer  see  the  same  countenances,  read  the 
same  Bible,  and  feel  like  the  same  person.  The  character  of  all  my 
acquaintances  are  entirely  changed.  My  pious  friends  once  appear- 
ed gloomy  and  reserved,  now  they  are  benevolent  and  cheerful.  My 
gay  acquaintances  seem  no  longer  happy,  but  mad.  The  Book  of 
God  once  seldom  read,  or  when  read,  disrelished  or  misunderstood, 
now  seems  replete  with  interest  and  instruction.  I  am  filled  with 
joyful  amazement  as  I  learn  from  it,  the  love  which  Jesus  has  mani- 
fested for  the  world,  and  the  purity  and  excellence  of  the  divine 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTING   PROMISE.  331 

Narrative  concluded. 

character.  At  the  same  time  it  teaches  numerous  lessons  of  humili- 
ty, gives  an  odious  aspect  to  sin,  and  warns  against  our  deceiving 
hearts.  I  reflect  with  horror  and  dismay  on  my  former  course  of 
forgetfulness  of  God,  and  feel  as  if  it  were  a  privilege  to  be  allowed 
to  attempt,  though  feebly,  to  pursue  a  totally  opposite  course.  The 
sense  I  have  of  my  former  character  makes  me  feel  deeply  for  all 
ray  impenitent  friends.  I  feel  constrained  to  humble  myself  before 
them  on  account  of  my  former  bad  example  and  influence,  and  even 
with  tears  beseech  them  to  turn  from  their  sinful  ways  to  repent- 
ance and  faith.  In  short  I  feel  a  perfect  good  will,  I  hope,  to  all 
the  world,  and  banish  hatred  and  envy  from  my  heart  where  they 
had  long  been  cherished.  But,  my  dear  mother,  my  hope  is  with 
great  fear  and  trembling;  sometimes  it  seems  incredible  that  such 
an  one  as  myself  should  find  any  favor  with  God  ;  and  if  I  have  any 
hope,  it  is  that  Jesus  Christ  might  show  forth  in  me  all  long-sufler- 
ing,  for  where  sin  abounded,  grace  doth  much  more  abound.  Some- 
times I  feel  as  if  I  was  in  rebellion  yet ;  but  I  do  not  rest  at  such  a 
time,  till  I  resign  myself  anew,  and  without  reserve  to  my  Maker. 
But,  dear  mother,  I  would  that  much  fervent  prayer  might  be  offer- 
ed up,  that  I  may  watch  my  heart  diligently,  and  consider  well  the 
ground  of  my  hope,  and  not  be  dangerously  deceived ;  and  if  I  find 
myself  under  such  an  awful  mistake,  that  I  may  not  rest  there,  but 
give  myself  no  peace,  till  by  sincere  repentance  and  faith  I  may  be 
reconciled  to  God  in  Christ.  On  the  other  hand  if  it  should  seem 
that  God  has  magnified  his  long  suffering  and  the  riches  of  his  ten- 
der mercies  in  me,  pray  that  I  may  be  strengthened  and  established 
in  repentance  towards  God,  and  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  and 
that  I  may  exercise  all  the  Christian  virtues,  and  walk  according  to 
the  law  of  God,  increasing  in  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  and  growth 
in  grace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.  Oh,  my  dear  mother,  on  you, 
on  me,  and  on  all  the  world,  may  God  pour  out  the  influence  of  the 
Spirit,  to  guide  and  sanctify  us,  and  fit  us  for  an  eternity  of  happi- 
ness in  heaven.  I  would  wish  to  write  much  more,  but  hope  to  see 
you  next  Saturday  or  before.  My  sincere  love,  and  prayers  to  and 
for  all  friends. 

*'  Your  affectionate  Son." 


I  have  thus  followed  out  this  particular  case,  in  order 
to  give  to  my  readers,  by  means  of  a  minute  examina- 
tion of  one  specimen,  a  clear  idea  of  the  nature  of  the 
changes  which  were  effected.  There  were,  however, 
many  other  cases,  as  marked  and  striking  as  this;    so 


332  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10. 

Marks  of  genuine  feeling.  Religious  meetings. 

that  any  person  who  was  a  member  of  college  at  that 
time,  might  be  in  doubt,  after  reading  the  preceding 
description,  which  of  half  a  dozen  decided  enemies  of 
religion,  who  were  at  this  time  changed,  was  the  one 
referred  to.  In  fact  the  feeling  went  through  the  col- 
lege; — it  took  the  whole.  Nothing  like  opposition  to 
it  was  known,  except  that  perhaps  in  a  very  few  cases 
individuals  made  ellbrts  to  shield  themselves  from  its  in- 
fluence; and  one  or  two  did  this  successfully,  by  keeping 
themselves  for  many  days,  under  the  influence  of  ardent 
spirit!  With  a  few  exceptions  of  this  kind,  the  unwont- 
ed and  mysterious  influence  was  welcomed  by  all.  It 
was  not,  among  Christians,  a  feeling  of  terror,  of  sadness 
and  melancholy,  but  of  delight.  Their  countenances 
were  not  gloomy  and  morose,  as  many  persons  suppose 
is  the  case  at  such  a  time,  but  they  beamed  with  an  ex- 
pression of  enjoyment,  which  seemed  to  be  produced  by 
the  all  pervading  sense  of  the  immediate  presence  of 
God.  I  have  seen,  in  other  cases,  efforts  to  appear 
solemn, —  the  affected  gravity  of  countenance,  and  seri- 
ousness of  tone; —  but  there  was  nothing  of  that  here. 
Hearts  were  all  full  to  overflowing,  and  it  was  with  a 
mysterious  mingling  of  peace  and  joy,  —  an  emotion 
of  deep  overwhelming  gladness  in  the  soul,  though  of 
a  character  so  peculiar,  that  it  expressed  itself  in  the 
countenance  by  mingled  smiles  and  tears. 

The  ordinary  exercises  of  college  were  not  interrupt- 
ed. The  President  held  two  or  three  religious  meetings 
during  the  week,  but  recitations  went  on  unchanged, 
and  I  well  recollect  the  appearance  of  my  mathematical 
classes.  The  students  would  walk  silently  and  slowly 
from  their  rooms,  and  assemble  at  the  appointed  place. 
It  was  plain  that  the  hearts  of  many  of  them  were  full 
of  such  emotions  as  I  have  described.  Others,  whose 
peace  was  not  made  with  God,  would  sit  with  down- 
cast eyes,  and  when  it  came  their  turn  to  be  questioned, 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  333 

The  recitation  room.  The  circle  for  prayer, 

would  make  an  effort  to  control  their  feelings,  and 
finding  that  they  could  not  recite,  would  ask  me  to 
excuse  them.  Others,  known  heretofore  as  hardened 
enemies  of  God  and  religion,  sat  still,  their  heads  reclin- 
ed upon  the  seats  before  them,  with  hearts  overwhelmed 
with  remorse  and  sorrow,  and  eyes  filled  with  tears,  I 
could  not  ask  them  a  question.  One  morning,  I  recol- 
lect, so  strong  and  so  universal  were  these  feelings,  that 
we  could  not  go  on.  The  room  was  silent  as  death. 
Every  eye  was  down;  I  called  upon  one  after  another, 
but  in  vain;  and  we  together  prayed  God  to  come  and 
be  with  us,  and  bless  us,  and  to  save  us  and  our  class- 
mates from  sin  and  suffering,  and  then  silently  went  to 
our  rooms. 

The  buildings  were  as  still  this  week  as  if  they  had 
been  depopulated.  The  students  loved  to  be  alone. 
They  walked  about  silently.  They  said  little  when  they 
met,  as  men  always  do  when  their  hearts  are  full.  Late 
in  the  evening  they  would  collect  in  little  circles  in  one 
another's  rooms,  to  spend  a  few  moments  in  prayer.  I 
was  often  invited  to  these  meetings,  and  it  was  delightful 
to  see  the  little  assembly  coming  into  the  room  at  the 
appointed  time,  each  bringing  his  own  chair,  and  gather- 
ing around  the  bright  burning  fire,  with  the  armed-chair 
placed  in  one  corner  for  their  instructer,  and  the  two 
occupants  of  the  room  together  upon  the  other  side. 
They  who  were  present  at  these  meetings  will  not  soon 
forget  the  enjoyment  with  which  their  hearts  were  filled, 
as  they  here  bowed  in  supplication  before  God. 

On  Tuesday  and  Thursday  evenings  we  assembled  in 
the  largest  lecture  room,  for  more  public  worship.  It 
was  the  same  room  where,  a  few  weeks  before,  on  the 
same  occasions,  we  could  see  only  here  and  there  one, 
among  the  vacant,  gloomy  seats.  Now  how  changed. 
At  the  summons  of  the  evening  bell,  group  after  group, 
ascended  the  stairs  and  crowded  the  benches.     It  was 


334  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    10, 

The  Tuesday  evening  meeting.  Sulemnit)b 

the  rhetorical  lecture  room,  and  was  arranged  with  rows 
of  seats  on  the  three  sides,  and  a  table  for  the  Professor 
on  a  small  platform  on  the  fourth.  The  seats  were  soon 
full,  and  settees  were  brought  in  to  fill  the  area  left  in 
the  centre.  The  President  was  seated  at  the  table;  on 
either  side  of  him  the  Professors;  and  beyond  them, 
and  all  around,  the  room  was  crowded  with  young  men 
hungering  and  thirsting  after  the  word  of  God. 

I  recollect  particularly  one  of  these  meetings.  It  was 
one  of  the  earliest  after  the  revival  commenced,  and 
before  us,  crowding  the  settees  in  the  open  area,  were 
gathered  all  the  wild,  irreligious,  vicious  and  abandoned 
young  men  which  the  institution  contained.  There  they 
were,  the  whole  of  them;  all  enmity  gone,  opposition 
silenced,  and  pride  subdued,  and  they  sat  in  silence, 
gazing  at  the  President  and  drinking  in  all  his  words, 
as  he  pressed  upon  them  their  sins,  and  urged  them  to 
throw  down  the  weapons  of  their  rebellion,  and  come 
and  submit  themselves  to  God.  The  text  for  the  eve- 
ning, if  I  recollect  right,  was  this,  "  Notwithstanding, 
be  ye  sure  of  this,  the  kingdom  of  God,  has  come  nigh 
unto  you,"  Every  person  in  the  room  felt  that  it  was 
nigh.  He  spoke  in  a  calm,  quiet,  but  impressive  man- 
ner, and  every  word  went  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  hearts. 
Many  persons  imagine  that  preaching  in  such  a  season 
is  loud  and  noisy,  and  set  off  with  exciting  remarks,  and 
extravagant  gesticulations;  and  it  is  so  sometimes,  when 
men  attempt  to  make  a  revival  by  their  own  power.  But 
where  the  spirit  of  God  really  comes,  there  are  very  dif- 
ferent indications.  Every  one  feels  irresistibly  that  God 
is  there,  and  that  he  himself  must  walk  humbly  and  soft- 
ly before  him.  The  almost  supernatural  power  which 
preaching  seems  to  have  at  such  a  time  is  the  power  of 
simple  truth,  on  hearts  bowed  down  before  it  by  influ- 
ences from  above.  Such  a  season  robs  eloquence  and 
genius  of  all  their  power;  declamation  is  more  than  use- 


Ch.    10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE.  335 

Sincere  aud  honest  feeling.  The  serntion.  '   The  hymn. 

less,  and  all  the  arts  of  oratory  of  no  avail.  There  are 
souls  awed  and  subdued  before  God,  and  longing  for 
the  light  of  truth;  and  he  who  can  supply  these  desires 
with  the  greatest  calmness,  and  directness,  and  simplici- 
ty, will  be  the  means  of  producing  the  most  powerful  ef- 
fects. A  man  could  scarcely  give  utterance  to  rant  and 
declamation  and  noisy  harangue  in  such  a  room,  even  if 
he  had  come  all  prepared  to  do  it.  As  he  should  enter 
such  a  scene,  he  would  be  subdued  and  calmed  by  its 
irrestible  influence.  He  would  instinctively  feel,  that 
noisy  eloquence  there  would  grate  upon  every  ear  and 
shock  every  heart,  and  no  bold  assurance  would  be  suf- 
ficient to  carry  him  on. 

We  listened  to  the  sermon,  which  was  earnest  and 
impressive,  though  direct,  plain,  and  simple;  it  told  the 
ungodly  hearers  before  us,  that  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
was  nigh  them,  and  urged  them  to  enter  it.  We  knew, 
—  we  could  almost  feel  that  they  were  entering  it;  and 
when,  at  the  close  of  the  meeting,  we  sang  our  parting 
hymn,  I  believe  there  was  as  much  real,  deep  flowing 
happiness  in  that  small  but  crowded  apartment,  as  four 
such  walls  ever  contained. 

When  the  indications  of  this  visit  from  above  first  ap- 
peared, it  was  about  a  fortnight  before  the  close  of  the 
term,  and  in  about  ten  days  its  object  was  accomplished. 
Out  of  the  whole  number  of  those  who  had  been  irreli- 
gious at  its  commencement,  about  one  half  professed  to 
have  given  themselves  up  to  God;  but  as  to  all  the  talent, 
and  power  of  opposition,  and  open  enmity, —  the  vice,  the 
profaneness,  the  dissipation, —  the  revival  took  the  whole. 
With  one  or  two  exceptions,  it  took  the  whole.  And 
when,  a  few  weeks  afterwards,  the  time  arrived  for  those 
thus  changed  to  make  a  public  profession  of  religion,  it 
was  a  striking  spectacle  to  see  them  standing  in  a  crowd 
in  the  broad  aisle  of  the  college  chapel,  purified,  sanc- 
tified, and  in  the  presence  of  all  their  fellow  students 


336  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   lOL 

ReligioiM  character  of  the  converts.  These  changes  the  work  of  God, 

renouncing  sin,  and  solemnly  consecrating  themselves  to 
God.  Seven  years  have  since  elapsed,  and  they  are  in 
his  service  now.  I  have  their  names  before  me,  and  I 
do  not  know  of  one  who  does  not  continue  faithful  to  his 
Master  still. 

But  I  have  dwelt  too  long  perhaps  on  this  subject,  and 
I  must  close  this  chapter.  I  have  been  intending  how- 
ever to  say  two  things  in  conclusion,  though  I  must  now 
say  them  briefly. 

1.  There  are  many  persons  who,  because  they  hav« 
seen  or  heard  of  many  spurious  and  heartless  eflJbrts  to 
make  a  revival  of  religion,  accompanied  by  noise  and 
rant,  and  unprofitable  excitement,  doubt  the  genuineness 
of  all  these  reformations.  But  I  ask  them  whether  the 
permanent  alteration,  in  a  week,  of  nearly  all  the  wild  and 
ungovernable  and  vicious  students  of  a  college,  is  not 
evidence  of  the  operation  of  some  extraordinary  moral 
cause.  We  who  witnessed  it  cannot  doubt.  Such  cases 
too,  are  not  uncommon.  They  occur  continually,  all 
over  our  land,  producing  entire  changes  in  neighbor- 
hoods and  villages  and  towns,  and  very  often  in  colleges. 
The  effect  in  this  case  upon  the  police  of  the  institution 
was  astonishing.  Before  the  revival,  the  officers  of  the 
institution  were  harassed  and  perplexed  with  continual 
anxiety  and  care,  from  the  turbulence  and  vice  of  their 
pupils.  But  from  this  time  we  had  scarcely  any  thing 
to  do  with  the  discipline  of  the  institution.  Month  after 
month,  every  thing  went  smoothly  and  pleasantly,  and 
we  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  provide  instruction  for  in- 
dustrious, faithful  and  regular  young  men;  while  before, 
the  work  of  punishing  misdemeanors,  and  repressing  dis- 
order, and  repairing  injuries,  demanded  far  the  great- 
est portion  of  our  attention  and  care.  Similar  changes 
have  often  been  produced  in  other  communities,  and  the 
fact  that  so  many  persons  have  thus  had  the  opportunity 


Ch.   10.]  THE    PARTING    PROMISE,  337 

Witnessed  by  thousands.  Counterfeita.  Influences  of  the  Spirit. 

personally  to  witness  them,  is  the  real  ground  of  the 
conviction  which  almost  universally  prevails,  among  the 
most  intelligent  and  substantial  portions  of  the  community, 
that  they  are  the  work  of  God.  That  there  will  be  some 
counterfeits  is  to  be  expected.  As  human  nature  is,  it 
is  certain.  But  we  ought,  when  convinced  that  there 
are  counterfeits,  not  to  condemn  all,  but  carefully  to 
discriminate,  and  to  bring  before  the  world  the  marks  of 
a  counterfeit  as  distinctly  as  possible,  so  that  nothing  but 
what  is  genuine  may  obtain  credit  among  mankind. 

2.  Reader,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  having  the  heart 
filled  with  peace  and  joy,  under  the  influence  of  the 
Spirit  of  God.  Do  not  doubt  it,  if  you  have  not  your- 
self experienced  it,  and  do  not  forget  it  if  you  have. 
The  mysterious  influence  shows  itself  in  many  ways.  It 
whispers  to  the  soul  sometimes  in  solitude,  at  midnight, 
and  beckons  it  away  from  the  world  to  God  and  duty. 
The  morning  light,  and  the  return  of  business  and  pleas- 
ufes  silence  it,  perhaps, —  but  then  it  will  return  in  sick- 
ness, in  affliction,  and  sorrow,  and  say  to  the  spirit,  still 
lingering  about  the  world,  "  Come  away,  come  away." 
It  may  be  disregarded  still, —  but  it  vv^ill  hover  near,  and 
like  a  dove  unwilling  to  leave  its  master,  will  flutter 
round  and  light  upon  him  again  and  again.  It  melts  the 
soul  into  penitence  for  sins  which  have  been  thought  of 
with  cold  insensibility  for  years, —  it  subdues  stubborn- 
ness and  pride, —  it  removes  the  vail  from  before  the 
tomb,  and  brings  God  and  the  judgment  and  heaven  to 
view.  It  gives  life  and  sensibility  to  the  torpid  soul, — 
arouses  its  powers,  nerves  the  weak,  humbles  the  proud, 
breaks  the  chains  and  fetters  of  sin,  and  under  its  magic 
power,  the  hardened,  rebellious,  stupid  enemy  of  God, 
rises  to  life  and  to  freedom.  His  restless,  feverish, 
anxiety  is  gone,  and  joy  gladdens  his  heart,  hope  beams 
iu  his  eye,  and  he  comes  to  his  Savior,  subdued,  altered, 
purified,  for  ever.  Blessed  Spirit,  thou  art  indeed  the 
29 


998  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    II. 

The  Comforter.  Varioua  classes  of  readers.  Addreea  to  the  fe-VK 

light  and  life  of  man;  — the  only  real  Comforter,  in  this 
vale  of  sorrow  and  sin.  We  will  pray  for  thee,  and  open 
our  hearts  to  thee,  and  welcome  thy  coming.  Descend, 
heavenly  influence,  descend  every  where,  and  bring  this 
Binning  and  suffering  world  back  to  its  duty. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE     CONCLUSION. 
"  If  ye  know  these  things,  happy  are  ye  if  ye  do  them." 

The  question  which  ought  to  arise,  in  the  mind  of 
every  reader,  as  he  draws  towards  the  close  of  a  reli'- 
gious  book,  is  this;  "  What  practical  effect  is  this  work 
to  produce  upon  my  mind.^"  The  question  is  generally 
very  easily  answered.  Some  read  from  mere  curiositj^; 
—  some  to  beguile  weary  hours; — some  to  be  able  to 
say  that  they  have  read  what  their  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances have  been  reading.  One  man  goes  over  the 
chapters  of  such  a  work  as  this,  thinking  all  the  time 
how  its  truths  will  apply  to  his  neighbors;  another  scri> 
tinizes  paragraph  after  paragraph  to  discover  if  possible 
whether  the  writer  believes  in  this  theory  or  that,  or  to 
determine  the  religious  party  with  which  he  is  to  be 
classed;  and  a  third,  though  he  may  attend  to  the  prac- 
tical bearings  and  relations  of  the  subject,  is  thinking, 
all  the  time,  of  other  persons,  in  applying  them.  This 
chapter  he  appropriates  to  his  wife, —  another  to  his 
child,  and  another  he  thinks  admirably  adapted  to  the 
spiritual  condition  of  his  neighbor.  The  number  of 
readers  who  take  up  a  religious  book  honestly  and  siiv- 
cerely  to  promote  their  own  personal  piety  is  very  small. 

Still  there  are  a  few;  and  it  is  to  these  few  that  the 


Ch.   11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  .     339 

Very  few  really  accessible.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  Christian." 

remaining  pages  of  this  work  ought  now  to  be  devoted. 
There  are  a  few,  who  do  read  with  reference  to  the 
supply  of  their  own  spiritual  wants.  It  would  be  too 
much  to  say  that  all  of  them  have  a  sincere  and  honest 
desire  to  know  and  to  do  their  duty,  but  they  have  at 
least  some  personal  interest  in  it.  If  they  are  not  really 
prepared  to  take  the  right  course,  at  least  the  question 
whether  they  will  take  it  or  not  comes  up  to  view.  It 
comes  up  in  the  light  of  a  personal  question  which  they 
at  least  consider.  Others  read  without  admitting  the 
claims  of  personal  duty,  even  to  a  hearing.  The  intel- 
lect, the  imagination,  the  taste,  are  perhaps  in  an  acces- 
sible position;  but  the  conscience  and  all  the  moral 
powers  are  far  within, — protected  from  all  attack, — every 
avenue  sealed, — and  every  channel  of  communication  cut 
oif,  so  that  the  moral  slumber  cannot  be  disturbed.  It 
is  those  only  who  are  accessible,  that  we  have  to  address 
in  the  few  pages  that  now  remain. 

There  is  a  great  deal  x)f  perplexity  often  felt,  by  a 
cdass  of  thoughtful,  serious-minded  persons,  in  regard  to 
the  difficulties  which  stand  in  the  way  of  their  own  per- 
sonal salvation.  They  ivish  to  become  Christians,  they 
say,  but  there  seems  to  be  some  mysterious  yet  irresist- 
ible agei^cy  which  keeps  them  back  in  the  coldness  and 
wretchedness  of  sin.  In  such  cases  there  is  perhaps  a 
wish,  a  sincere  wish,  of  a  certain  kind,  to  become  a  Chris- 
tian; but  it  remains  inert  and  powerless  in  their  hearts;  it 
does  not  lead  them  to  piety  itself,  and  they  feel  and  act 
&a  if  there  was  some  mysterious  obstacle  to  their  obtain- 
ing what  they  sincerely  and  honestly  desire. 

The  two  great  elementary  principles  of  religion  are 
these;  the  duty  of  strong,  benevolent  interest  in  every 
fellow  being,  and  of  submission  and  gratitude  towards  the 
Supreme.  Jesus  Christ  has  said  that  these  constitute  the 
fojmdation  on  which  all  revealed  religion  rests;  and  it  is 


S40  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    II. 

Two  great  principles  of  duty;  universaJ  and  unquestionable. 

difficult  to  find  words  to  express  the  perfect  adaptation 
of  these  principles  to  tlie  purposes  of  a  great  moral  gov- 
ernment,—  their  admirable  tendency  to  secure  universal 
order  and  happiness.  There  is  not  a  statesman  or  phi- 
losopher on  the  globe  who  can  improve  upon  them,  nor 
a  savage  low  enough  not  to  perceive  their  moral  beauty 
and  grandeur.  They  are  the  golden  chain  to  bind  all 
God's  creatures  to  one  another,  and  to  him;  complete, 
—  for  there  is  no  other  principle  of  duty  which  can  even 
claim  to  be  ranked  with  them;  unrivalled, —  for  no  other 
system  can  be  proposed  which  would  even  promise  to 
secure  the  results  of  this;  and  undeniable  in  their  ex- 
cellence and  efficacy,  —  for  never,  since  the  world  was 
formed,  was  a  mind  so  perverse  as  to  call  them  in 
question.  They  cannot  be  called  in  question.  No  per- 
son can  doubt  that  a  moral  governor,  presiding  over 
moral  and  intelligent  creatures,  by  prescribing  such 
rules  as  the  fundamental  laws  of  his  empire,  takes  the 
most  direct  and  efficient  course  to  secure  universal  har- 
mony and  happiness.  No  man  can  utter  a  word  against 
them.  There  is  a  feeling  within  him,  which  would  rise 
up  and  silence  him,  if  he  should  attempt  to  do  it.  They 
stand  inscribed  by  conscience  in  every  heart;  reason 
and  justice  and  truth  have  set  their  seals  to  the  record; 
and  they  must  stand,  in  characters  which  cannot  be 
obliterated. 

But  though  mankind  cannot  question  the  excellence 
of  the  system  of  duty  which  God  has  established  for  his 
creatures,  they  can,  in  their  practice,  violate  it:  and  a 
great  many  pleasures  of  various  kinds  will  come  by 
means  of  such  violation.  If  a  man  will  give  up  his 
neighbors'  rights  and  happiness,  he  may  secure  some 
new  indulgences  for  himself,  in  consequence  of  it.  If 
he  will  disobey  God,  he  may  find  some  gratifications  in 
doing  what  he  has  forbidden.  The  question  between 
holiness  and  sin,  is  not  a  question   between  unalloyed 


Ch.   11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  341 

Some  pleasure  in  sin.  Sin  preferred.  Supposed  desire  for  piety, 

happiness,  and  unmixed,  uninterrupted  misery.  It  is 
rather  a  question  between  two  sorts  of  pleasures.  There 
is  guilty  indulgence  on  one  side,  and  holy  peace  of  mind 
on  the  other.  There  is  selfish  interest  or  aggrandize- 
ment beckoning  to  this  path,  and  the  happiness  of  doing 
good,  inviting  to  the  other.  In  the  former  the  heart 
may  secure  the  feverish  but  real  delight  which  gratified 
propensities  and  passions  may  afford;  envy  and  anger 
may  have  their  way, —  revenge  may  be  allowed  its  in- 
toxicating triumph, —  and  sinful  pleasure  may  bring  her 
sparkling  cup;  in  the  latter,  are  the  peaceful  enjoyments 
odf  piety, —  the  sense  of  protection, —  the  hope  of  unde- 
served forgiveness, —  communion  with  God,  and  heart- 
felt interest  in  the  welfare  of  men.  Between  these  two 
classes  of  pleasures,  the  human  soul  must  make  its  choice, 
and  the  real  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  salvation  of  men, 
is,  that  they  do  really  prefer'  the  pleasures  of  sin  to  those  of 
holiness;  and  of  course,  if  they  enjoy  the  one,  they  must 
forego  the  other. 

Men  very  often  suppose  that  they  have  a  love,  a  desire 
for  piety,  but  it  is  something  else,  not  piety  itself,  which 
in  such  cases,  they  love.  When  they  look  directly  at  the 
two  classes  of  pleasures  above  described,  they  will  see, 
if  they  are  honest,  .that  they  do  deliberately  prefer  the 
former.  The  pleasures  of  sin,  in  some  form  or  other, 
look  alluring,  but  the  pleasures  of  holiness  do  not  look 
alluring.  The  dominion  of  sin  therefore  is  pleasant;  the 
soul  loves  its  chains,  and  consequently  it  does  not  really 
desire  a  rescue.  The  feelings  therefore  which  it  some- 
times cherishes,  are  of  a  different  character  altogether 
from  a  real  wish  to  escape  the  pollution  and  the  miseries 
of  sin;  for  the  heart  has  scarcely  any  sense  of  its  pollu- 
tion or  of  its  miseries. 

There  seem  to  be  two  prominent  ways,  by  which  an 
individual   may   deceive   himself  in  supposing   that   lie 
wishes  to  become   a  Christian.     These  we  ought  here 
29* 


342  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    IL 

Influence  of  a  religious  book.  First  ground  of  error. 

particularly  to  describe;  for  the  reading  of  a  religious 
book,  if  it  presses  plainly  the  principles  of  duty,  usually 
awakens  these  false  desires  in  many  minds.  I  cannot 
but  hope  that  many  of  those  who  will  have  perused  these 
pages,  will  be  really  led  to  see  sin  and  holiness  in  their 
true  light,  and  by  the  blessing  of  God,  be  led  to  choose 
henceforth  the  path  of  duty.  But  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion that  far  the  greater  part  of  those  whose  hearts  are 
accessible,  and  who  will  be  influenced  at  all,  will  only 
be  led  to  form  those  desires  which  are  always  ready  to 
spring  up  in  the  unrenewed  heart,  but  which  have  only 
the  form  and  appearance  of  a  love  for  piety. 

I  ought  not  perhaps  to  say,  that  religious  reading/orms 
those  desires  in  the  heart,  for  they  exist  already  almost 
every  where,  and  those  who  cherish  them  are  most  likely 
to  be  found  among  the  readers  of  a  work  professedly 
exhibiting  the  practical  bearings  of  religious  truth. 
They  read  such  a  work  as  this,  under  the  influence  of 
these  counterfeit  desires,  and  in  many  cases,  the  only 
effect  is  to  bring  out  those  desires  to  a  little  greater  dis- 
tinctness and  vividness,  without  at  all  altering  their  char- 
acter. Reader,  are  you  a  serious  minded,  thoughtful 
friend  of  religion, —  looking  for  instruction,  and  thinking 
that  you  really  desire  a  renewed  heart,  and  the  happiness 
of  piety?  Consider  carefully  what  is  now  to  be  said,  and 
see  whether  you  have  not  been  mistaken  as  to  the  nature 
of  your  feelings. 

1 .  The  first  kind  of  feeling  which  is  mistaken  for  a 
love  of  piety,  is  the  momentary  relief  which  the  mind 
sometimes  finds  in  religious  contemplation,  from  the  fear 
of  the  punishment  of  sin.  You  are  a  young  man,  and 
from  early  infancy  you  have  known  your  duty  to  God. 
The  kind  and  faithful  voice  of  a  father  or  mother  has, 
during  all  the  long  years  of  childhood  and  youth,  been 
gently  endeavoring  to  win  you  to  their  Master's  service, 
but  in  vain.     You  have  chosen  sin,  and  lived  in  it.     At 


Ch.   11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  3^ 

The  thoughtful  young  man.  Conscience ;  recollections ;  fears, 

length,  however,  as  you  have  left  your  father's  roof  and 
have  come  out  into  the  world,  and  as  the  years,  and  the 
duties,  and  the  scenes  of  childhood  are  all  actually  past, 
and  you  are  separated  from  them  for  ever,  you  begin  to 
realize  that  Hfe  is  actually  passing  away.  Besides,  the 
Bins  of  childhood  rise  to  your  remembrance.  Conscience 
is  perhaps  seared  in  respect  to  most  of  them,  but  there 
axe  a  few  which,  when  they  rise  to  mind,  awaken  a 
peculiar  bitterness  of  remorse,  which  makes  you  shut 
your  eyes  against  the  recollection,  and  turn  away  from 
it  as  soon  as  you  can.  It  is  one  of  the  mysterious 
principles  of  human  nature  that  some  of  its  moral  wounds 
will  not  heal.  The  longer  the  man  lives,  the  more  bitter 
will  grow  some  of  the  recollections  of  early  guilt;  and 
in  the  permanence  of  these  fountains  of  suffering,  which 
he  finds  he  cannot  close,  he  reads  a  lesson  which  his 
foreboding  fears  press  very  strongly  upon  his  mind.  He 
sometimes  trembles  to  think  that  all  his  other  wounds 
may  only  be  closed  superficially,  and  may  perhaps  be 
gathering  in  his  soul  secret  stores  of  remorse  and  suffer- 
ing, to  break  out  whenever  God  shall  speak  the  word. 
That  this  is  the  case  in  fact,  with  all  merely  forgotten  sin, 
no  careful  observer  of  the  human  heart,  or  reader  of  the 
Bible  can  doubt.  The  class  of  persons  I  am  describing 
are,  however,  not  very  careful  observers;  they  do  not 
really  believe  that  they  are  laying  up  such  treasures  of 
wrath, —  they  only  suspect  it;  they  now  and  then  get  a 
little  glimpse  of  the  power  of  past  guilt,  just  enough  to 
^larm  them. 

Besides  these  gentle  stings,  which  treasured  recolleo- 
tions  of  guilt  sometimes  give  them,  as  if  just  to  remind 
them  what  vipers  they  have  in  their  bosoms,  there  is  the 
voice  of  conscience  murmuring  against  present  habits 
of  transgression,  and  foreboding  fears  warning  of  future 
danger;  and  the  word  of  God,  too,  confirming  and  sanc^ 
tioning  both.     You  have  perhaps  often  felt  these  anxie- 


S44  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    11. 

Soothing  influence  of  a  good  intention.  Loving  the  rewards  of  piety. 

ties  and  sufferings.  In  the  hour  of  solitude,  when  pcci>- 
liar  circumstances  favor  reflection,  your  heart  is  thus 
agitated  and  distressed  under  a  sense  of  its  past  and 
present  guilt.  You  look  at  religion,  at  reconciliation 
with  God,  solely  as  a  way  of  escape  from  threatening 
danger.  You  form  a  vague  determination  to  seek  this 
safety  at  some  future  time,  and  this  intention,  as  it  af- 
fords a  little  gleam  pf  hope,  brings  a  little  sensation  of 
relief,  and  that  little  feeling  of  relief,  arising  from  the 
contemplation  of  the  safehj  of  piety,  is  mistedten  for  a  love 
for  spiritual  joys  themselves. 

The  mere  thought  of  religion,  as  a  possible  future 
possession,  brings  thus  very  often  a  feeling  of  relief  to 
the  conscience,  although  the  heart  may  not  in  the  slight^ 
est  degree  lose  its  love  for  sin,  or  relax  its  hold  upon  it. 
Conscience  is  bribed  to  be  quiet  by  a  good  intention,  a 
promise, —  to  be  fulfilled  at  some  future  day.  Though 
the  soul  loves  irreligion  as  much  as  ever,  and  shrinks 
back,  as  much  as  ever,  from  humble,  broken-hearted 
penitence,  and  communion  with  God,  and  faith,  and 
spiritual  joy,  it  still  fancies  that  it  has  a  desire  for  piety. 
*'  I  wish  I  were  a  Christian,"  it  says; — it  means,  "  I  wish 
I  could  escape  the  consequences  of  sin,  without  having 
to  give  up  its  joys." 

Reader,  is  this  your  state  of  mind.?  Do  you  wish  for 
piety  only  as  a  means  of  escaping  present  remorse  and 
anxiety,  and  future  danger,  while  you  still  wish  to  cling 
to  sin?  The  way  to  determine  whether  you  do  or  not,  is 
to  withdraw  your  thoughts  from  the  consequences  of  sin 
and  holiness,  and  fix  them  on  sin  and  holiness  itself. 
Does  the  idea  of  coming  and  giving  yourself  up  wholly, 
soul  and  body,  to  God,  look  pleasant  to  you?  A  child 
who  loves  his  father,  will  take  pleasure  in  bringing  his 
work,  whatever  it  may  be,  where  his  father  is,  that  he 
do  it  by  his  side.  Now  does  the  idea  of  bringing  your 
workj  every  day,  to  your  father,  so  that  you  may  always 


Ch.  11.]  THE   CONCLUSION.  343 

Loving  piety  itself.  Influence  of  fear.  Undefined  fears. 

be  in  his  presence,  working  by  his  side,  look  pleasant  to 
you?  Is  there  anything  alluring  in  the  idea  of  exam- 
ining thoroughly  all  your  sins,  and  bringing  them  out 
before  God  in  complete  exposure.'*  Can  you  see  any 
pleasure  in  penitence,  in  submission,  in  a  feeling  of 
utter  and  helpless  dependance  on  God  ?  Do  you  like  the 
idea  of  giving  up  your  favorite  selfish  schemes,  and 
coming  to  identify  yourself  with  his  cause, —  so  as  to 
make  yourself  one  with  him,  in  object  and  pursuit.'*  As 
you  look  abroad  over  the  world,  and  see  the  condition  of 
the  human  race,  do  you  feel  like  embarking  your  all  in 
the  work  of  attempting  to  restore  it?  I  do  not  mean  to 
ask  whether  you  can  drag  yourself  up  to  these  duties,— 
whether  you  can  find  motives  enough  to  drive  or  frighten 
you  to  the  mechanical  performance  of  them. —  But  do 
they  look  pleasant  to  you?  Does  the  enterprise  seem 
alluring  and  agreeahlel  These  are  the  questions  which 
you  ought  to  ask  yourself,  if  you  wish  to  determine 
whether  you  have  any  real  desire  for  piety.  It  is  not 
enough  that  you  should  have  anxiety  and  foreboding 
fears  from  which  you  find  a  partial  and  momentary  relief, 
in  the  vague  intention  of  one  day  beginning  to  serve  your 
Maker.  The  safety,  the  peace,  the  promised  rewards 
of  piety,  of  course  look  alluring  to  all  men.  The  great 
question  is,  how  do  you  feel  about  piety  itself. 

In  regard,  thus,  to  a  very  large  proportion  of  those  who 
think  they  wish  to  become  Christians,  their  interest  in 
the  subject  amounts  substantially  to  this; — they  are  so 
desirous  to  escape  from  the  threatening  dangers  of  sin^ 
that  they  are  almost  willing,  even  to  take  religion  as  a 
means  of  escape.  How  much  love  for  piety  there  is  in 
this  the  reader  may  judge. 

A  person  cannot  safely  conclude  that  this  is  not  his 
state  of  mind,  because,  when  he  thinks  of  the  subject,  he 
has  no  distinct  and  well  defined  fears  of  a  future  retri- 
bution.    It  is  very  often  the  case  that  the  feelings,  from 


346  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    11, 

Fear  of  consequences  proper.  Dedirc  of  happineaib 

which  the  thought  of  rcHgion  as  a  possible  future  pos- 
session, afTortls  a  Httle  rehef,  are  mingled  emotions  of 
remorse  and  gloomy  foreboding,  which  present  to  th© 
mind  no  distinct  objects  of  dread,  but  which  still  dis- 
turb the  peace.  Now  it  is  plainly  of  no  consequenco 
what  form  uneasiness  assumes;  an  inclination  to  become 
a  Christian,  based  in  any  way  on  a  desire  to  avoid  utk- 
easiness,  is  a  very  different  thing  from  loving  it  on  its 
own  account.  Do  the  duties  of  God's  service  look 
alluring  to  you?  If  they  do  not,  you  plainly  have  no 
real  love  for  piety;  if  they  do,  you  are  of  course  a  Chris- 
tian, for  to  love  these  duties  and  to  perform  them,  are 
inseparable. 

Let  no  one  however  suppose  from  these  remarks,  that 
a  fear  of  future  punishment,  or  a  desire  to  escape  the 
uneasiness  and  the  remorse  attendant  on  continuance  in 
sin,  are  wrong.  They  are  not  wrong.  The  Bible  every 
where  endeavors  to  awaken  them;  and  their  influence 
ought  to  be  felt  by  every  human  being,  far  more  powec- 
fuUy  than  they  are.  The  point  urged  in  the  preceding 
paragraphs  is  that  these  desires  alone,  ivhile  the  heart 
revolts  from  jnety  itself,  are  no  desires  for  religion.  Let 
not  therefore  the  young  disciple  who  is  just  beginning  to 
love  and  serve  his  Maker,  be  led  to  despond,  because  he 
finds  himself  so  much  under  the  influence  of  a  desire  to 
get  free  from  the  burdens  and  dangers  of  sin.  You  do 
right  to  wish  to  escape  suffering;  you  do  right  to  act 
under  the  influence  of  that  wish.  Your  steps  should  be 
quickened  —  your  ardor  and  alacrity  should  receive  an 
impulse  from  a  sense  of  the  greatness  of  the  dangers,  from 
which  you  are  endeavoring  to  fly.  The  question  is  not 
whether  you  are  driven;  but  whether  you  are  allured  as 
well  as  driven.  You  are  weary  of  present  remorse,  and 
you  shrink  from  future  suffering.  It  is  well.  Do  you  also 
love  holiness  and  reach  forward  to  it  as,  in  itself,  a  spiritual 
treasure.    He  who  has  real  desires  for  piety,  partakes  of 


Ch.   11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  347 

Second  form  of  false  interest  in  religion.  The  evening  walk, 

the  fears  and  anxieties  which  agitate  him  who  has  not; 
but  he  has  love  and  hope,  besides.  The  one  is  like  the 
disobedient  child,  who  has  rebelled  against  his  father, 
broken  away  from  his  authority,  and  gone  from  his 
presence;  and  at  night,  he  is  bewildered  in  a  forest,  and 
terrified  by  darkness  and  storm, —  but  yet  he  will  not  go 
home.  The  former  is  another  son,  who  having  wandered 
in  the  same  way,  is  equally  distressed  at  the  dangers 
which  threaten  him,  and  trembles  perhaps  even  more 
than  the  other,  at  the  thunder  and  the  wind; — but  his 
face  is  towards  the  divelling  he  has  left, — his  heart  is  melt- 
ed, and  he  longs  to  be  again  at  his  father's  side,  to  ask 
his  forgiveness,  and  once  more  to  be  happy  under  his 
protection. —  Reader,  do  you  really  wish  to  return? 

2.  I  have  said  that  there  are  two  forms  of  interest  in 
religion,  which  are  often  mistaken  for  sincere  desires  for 
piety.  The  first,  the  one  which  we  have  described,  may 
be  called  the  interest  of  anxiety,  the  second  that  of 
poetic  taste.  There  is  a  strong  poetic  interest  which  may 
be  excited  by  many  subjects  connected  with  religion, 
and  on  this,  a  heart  may  dwell  with  delight,  while  it  has 
no  returning  sense  of  duty,  no  relenting  for  sin,  and 
nothing  but  dislike  for  the  actual  service  of  God. 

It  is  the  refined  and  sensitive  mind  which  is  most  ex- 
posed to  this  danger, —  and  this  too  generally  in  the 
earlier  periods  of  life,  when  the  imagination  is  active 
and  vigorous,  and  the  bosom  easily  swells  with  the  emo- 
tions she  excites.  A  young  man  of  such  a  character, 
rambles  at  sunset  on  a  summer  evening,  on  the  sea-shore. 
All  is  stillness  and  beauty.  The  surface  of  the  water  is 
smooth  and  glassy,  and  reflects,  even  to  the  distant  ho- 
rizon, a  silvery  light.  On  this  liquid  mirror,  here  and 
there  a  verdant  island  seems  to  float,  doubled  by  reflec- 
tion, and  around  some  distant  point  of  land,  a  boat 
ploughs  its  way,  the  sound  of  the  dip  and  impulse  of  its 


848  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.   11. 

The  ocean.  Night.  Clouds.  Stars. 

oars  coming  distinctly  to  the  observer's  ear,  across  the 
smooth  expanse  which  spreads  itself  out  before  him. 

He  gazes  on  this  scene  an  hour, —  now  watching  the 
wheeHng  of  the  sea  bird  in  his  flight, —  now  tracing  the 
line  of  the  distant  shore,  following  it,  on  one  side  to  the 
lofty  and  rugged  precipice  where  it  abruptly  terminates, 
and  on  the  other,  running  out  on  the  attenuated  sandy 
point,  which  glides  down  into  the  water  so  gradually  that 
he  cannot  fix  the  boundary  between  sea  and  land; —  and 
now  watching,  both  with  eye  and  ear,  the  ceaseless  reg- 
ularity with  which  the  gentle  swell  of  the  water  foams 
against  the  rocks  at  his  feet. 

Presently  he  perceives  a  zone  of  faint  and  almost 
imperceptible  shadow,  rising  in  the  east, —  the  dark  har- 
binger of  night;  for  darkness  sends  forward  the  sombre 
signal  of  its  coming,  into  the  same  quarter  of  the  heavens 
which  beams,  in  the  morning,  with  the  bright  precursor 
of  the  day.  He  looks  towards  the  western  sky,  and 
Venus  shines  with  a  faint  beam,  the  earliest  star  among 
the  thousands  which  are  soon  to  kindle  up  the  sky. 
Clouds,  magnificent  in  form  and  splendid  in  coloring, 
float  in  the  sun's  last  rays.  Their  brilliancy  however 
gradually  dies  away.  The  bright,  gilded  edge  becomes 
obscured, —  the  crimson  and  the  purple  fade  into  gray, 
and  the  broad  and  splendid  expanse  of  air,  so  bright  with 
mere  reflection,  that  it  seemed  like  a  flaming  curtain 
floating  in  the  sky,  loses  its  hues,  and  stars  shine  out  one 
by  one,  all  over  the  darkening  expanse.  The  gorgeous 
mass  of  cloud  too  in  the  horizon,  exchanges  one  glory 
for  another; — for  while  its  brilliant  colors  fade,  and  its 
bosom  grows  dark,  the  beaming  flash  of  lightning  now 
and  then  faintly  spreads  over  it,  revealed  by  the  very 
darkness  which  robbed  the  cloud  of  superficial  splendor. 

The  observer  of  all  this,  sits  upon  the  rocky  shore,  in 
a  reverie  of  enjoyment.  As  a  mere  scene  of  physical 
beauty,  it   is   capable  of  making  a  strong    impression; 


Ch.    11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  349 

Poetic  feeling.  The  romance  of  religion.  Holiness. 

but  the  poetic  interest  which  it  excites,  is  greatly  increas- 
ed when  he  conceives  of  the  Supreme  Divinity  as  presid- 
ing over  this  scene,  and  sees  his  skill  and  taste  in  every 
beauty,  and  his  direct  act  in  every  change.  He,  who, 
in  contemplating  the  glories  of  creation,  gives  Jehovah 
his  proper  place  in  the  conceptions  which  he  forms,  rises 
far  above  the  mere  poet  or  philosopher.  Bringing  in  life 
and  intelligence  in  any  form,  always  exalts  and  ennobles 
a  scene  of  natural  beauty, —  and  when  the  life  and  intelli- 
gence thus  brought  in,  is  the  great  God  and  Father  of  all, 
the  measure  of  moral  beauty  and  grandeur  is  full. 

Besides,  while  an  observer,  with  a  heart  capable  of 
enjoying  such  a  scene,  thinks  of  the  Deity  as  presiding 
in  it,  he  can  find  much  poetic  interest  in  many  aspects 
even  of  his  own  relations  to  that  deity.  He  reflects  that 
the  Almighty  power,  which  could  arrange  such  a  scene 
as  that  around  him,  and  give  to  the  whole  its  indescriba- 
ble power  to  touch  the  human  heart,  can  never  be  at  a 
loss  for  the  means  to  make  his  creatures  happy.  He 
gazes  into  the  lofty  sky,  and  the  extent  and  spendor  of 
the  view  give  him  some  faint  conception  of  the  immen- 
sity of  the  community  over  which  God  presides.  He 
thinks  of  this  little  world,  as  a  revolted  province;  and  as 
he  fancies  that  allegiance  and  harmony  and  happiness 
reign  in  all  the  bright  regions  before  him,  his  heart 
swells  with  a  sort  of  chivalrous  desire  to  join  the  minority 
here,  in  their  efforts  to  restore  Jehovah's  reign.  The 
spirit  which  rises  in  his  breast  is  that  of  romance, —  of 
chivalry.  If  God's  kingdom  was  apolitical  or  a  military 
one  he  would  press  forward  at  once  to  its  banner.  But 
alas, —  it  is  a  kingdom  of  holiness.  To  enter  it  he  must 
come  down  from  his  high  imaginations,  and  go  to  work 
in  penitence  and  humility  among  the  corruptions  of  his 
own  heart, —  and  this  he  cannot  do.  He  can  admire 
and  love  magnificence,  whether  natural  or  moral,  but  he 
has  no  heart  for  inward  purity. 
30 


S50  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    IL 

These  fe«;ling8  not  wrong;  only  insufficient  of  themselves. 

In  the  case  which  I  have  supposed,  the  poetic  feeling 
which  has  invested  some  of  the  aspects  of  reHgion  with 
a  charm,  is  very  strongly  marked.  It  seldom  exists  so 
distinctly,  and  occupies  the  soul  so  exclusively,  as  in  the 
case  I  have  described.  This  play  of  the  imagination  is 
more  frequently  mingled  with  other  feelings,  and  some 
careful  discrimination  is  necessary  to  ascertain  how  far 
the  heart  is  under  its  influence.  Here  however  I  ought 
to  give  a  similar  caution  to  the  one  annexed  to  the  pre- 
ceding head;  that  is,  a  caution  to  guard  the  reader 
against  supposing  that  the  feelings  which  I  have  thus 
described  are  wrong.  They  are  not  wrong,  when  united 
with  penitence  and  faith.  Alone,  they  are  insufficient. 
They  may  properly  mingle  with  piety,  though  they  can 
never  constitute  it. 

No  renewed  mind  whatever,  unless  it  is  enveloped  in 
hopeless  stupidity,  can  look  upon  the  ever  varied  scene 
of  beauty  and  grandeur  which  is  presented  to  us  here, 
without  some  such  swelling  emotions  of  joy  that  God,  the 
Maker  of  all,  is  his  father  and  friend.  Let  no  one  con- 
clude, therefore,  because  he  can  perceive  such  feelings 
in  his  heart,  that  therefore  all  his  interest  in  piety  is  of 
the  wrong  kind.  The  question  is  not,  whether  you  have 
these  feelings,  but  whether  you  have  any  besides  these. 
You  love  the  magnificence  of  nature, —  the  beauties  of 
the  morning, —  the  splendor  of  the  sky, —  tl>e  roaring  of 
the  ocean, —  and  the  terrific  sublimity  of  the  midnight 
storm.  You  enjoy  the  contemplation  of  God,  when  you 
consider  him  as  the  presiding  power  which  rules  over 
all  these  scenes.  All  this  is  well.  But  do  you  also  love, 
and  long  for  imvard  pmity.  Do  the  feelings  of  penitence 
and  faith,  and  humble,  childlike  submission,  appear  to 
you  as  spiritual  treasures,  which  you  earnestly  desire  to 
bring  home  more  and  more  fully  to  your  soul; — or  do 
you  loathe  them,  and  wish  to  be  free  to  live  and  act  and 
feel  as  you  have  done.''     If  the  latter  is  the   case,  you 


Ch.   11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  351 

Wishing  to  be  a  Christian.  Difficulties  removed. 

must  not  mistake  any  serious  thoughts  or  deep  emotions 
which  you  may  feel,  for  real  desires  for  piety. 

There  cannot  be  any  obstacle  whatever  in  the  way  of 
a  return  to  God  and  to  duty,  when  the  heart  really  de- 
sires the  return.  Wishing  for  communion  with  God, 
reconciliation  to  him,  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and 
guidance  and  protection  for  the  future,  implies  every 
Christian  grace;  and  where  the  heart  really  feels  such 
desires,  it  must,  in  some  degree  at  least,  experience  the 
fruition. 

And  yet  no  idea  is  more  common  than  that  a  person 
remaining  impenitent,  may  wish  to  be  a  Christian.  You 
think,  perhaps,  my  reader,  that  this  is  your  case.  You 
wish  you  were  a  Christian,  you  say;  but  the  way  is  dark 
before  you.  There  is  some  mysterious  obstacle  which 
you  cannot  overcome.  But  reflect  a  moment,  and  you 
will  see  how  impossible  it  is  that  there  should  be  any 
such  obstacle.  It  cannot  be  in  your  hearts; — for  the 
difficulty  in  the  heart  must  have  been  surmounted  before 
you  could  have  any  real  love  for  piety.  It  cannot  be 
any  compulsion,  or  physical  restraint  from  without; — 
for  such  causes  cannot  control  the  movements  of  the 
human  soul.  It  cannot  be  in  God;  —  for  he  surely 
wishes  to  have  all  those  come  to  him  who  would  love 
his  service.  It  cannot  exist  at  all.  If  you  wish  to  be 
the  Lord's,  he  is  all  ready  to  receive  you.  If  you  think 
you  should  be  happy  as  a  subject  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  the  way  is  all  open  before  you  to  enter  it. 
Go  on.  la  beginning  to  love  piety,  if  you  have  for  it 
any  love  at  all,  you  have  passed  by  all  the  barriers 
which  obstructed  your  way.  You  have  henceforth  only 
to    drink  as  freely  as  you  please,  of  the  waters  which 

„„,^    ,--^,,     lovft 

you  acLjf   jyjtj^  ..^  .  . . 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  many  persons  imagme 
that  they  wish  to  be  Christians,  when  in  fact  they  have 


362  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    11. 

Discriininaiion.  Common  errors.  To  Uie  Reader. 

only  one  of  the  two  forms  of  religious  interest  which 
have  been  just  described.  There  are  some,  however, 
who  really  feel  desires  which  rest  upon  God  as  their 
object,  and  who  yet  find,  as  we  have  already  intimated, 
these  desires  so  mingled  with  other  feelings,  and  even 
so  absorbed  in  them,  that  they  live  in  constant  despon- 
dency, and  sometimes  sink  almost  to  despair.  Others 
shut  tiieir  eyes  to  the  worldly  motives  which  mingle  with 
their  j)urer  desires,  and  imagine  thai  all  their  ardent 
interest  is  holy  zeal  for  God; — and  they  press  on,  with 
a  proud  and  careless  step,  till  they  are  humbled  by  an 
unexpected  fall.  Thus  they  err  on  opposite  extremes. 
Neither  is  careful  to  separate  the  mingled  feelings  and 
desires  which  reign  within  him;  but  one  calls  them  all 
right,  and  the  other,  all  wrong.  Guard  against  this 
mistake.  Make  some  discrimination,  and  ask  yourself 
whether  you  have  any  real  desires  resting  on  union 
with  God. 

This  work  will  fail  of  its  design,  if  it  shall  not  be  the 
means  of  leading  some,  at  least,  of  its  readers  to  these 
right  desires.  If  among  all  who  shall  read  the  volume, 
there  is  one  who  is  led  by  it,  to  seek  God,  and  is  now, 
as  he  draws  towards  the  last  page  of  it,  resolved  to  live 
no  longer  in  sin,  but  to  enter  into  the  service  of  his 
Maker,  T  cannot  more  appropriately  close  this  chapter 
than  by  devoting  the  few  remaining  paragraphs  in  giving 
a  few  parting  words  to  him.  Reader,  are  you  this  indi- 
vidual? Have  you,  as  you  have  passed  on  from  chapter 
to  chapter  of  this  work,  seen  your  sins, —  felt  your  need 
of  a  Redeemer, —  desired  forgiveness  in  his  name, — 
and  felt  some  rising  emotions  of  gratitude  at  the  thought 
of  the  sufferings  which  he  endured  for  von?  Are  yo'J 
ready  to  enter  God's  service?  If  so,  listen  attentively  to 
these  my  parting  words. 


Ch.    11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  353 

Various  directions  to  a  new  convert.  Openness.  Humility. 

1.  Become  wholly  a  Christian,  if  you  mean  to  become 
one  at  all.  Do  not  try  to  come  and  make  half  a  peace 
with  God,  or  to  seek  a  secret  reconciliation.  If  you 
have  been  in  sin,  renounce  it  entirely.  If  you  have 
been  in  error,  abandon  it  openly.  Do  not  be  ungrate- 
ful or  cowardly  enough  to  wish  to  conceal  your  new 
attachment  to  the  cause  of  God,  or  to  avoid  an  acknow^ 
ledgment  that  you  have  been  in  the  wrong.  Take 
the  side  of  God  and  duty  openly,  distinctly,  fearlessly. 
This  is  your  duty; — and,  besides,  it  is  your  happiness. 
A  half  Christian  is  always  a  most  wretched  one. 

2.  Be  a  humble  Christian.  Do  not  fancy  yourself  an 
extraordinary  instance  of  religious  zeal,  or  look  down 
with  affected  wonder  on  the  supposed  inferiority  of  those 
who  have  been  longer  in  their  Master's  service.  You 
may  be  as  ardent,  as  devoted,  as  pure  and  holy  as  you 
please;  but  do  not  draw  comparisons  between  yourself 
and  others,  till  you  have  been  tried  a  little.  Remember 
that  the  evidence  of  piety  is  chiefly  its  fruits,  and  that 
well  grounded  assurance  can  come  only  after  years  of 
devoted,  and  tried,  and  proved  attachment  to  God, 

3.  Remember  that  your  chief  duty  is,  for  some  time  to 
come,  with  your  own  heart.  Look  within,  and  make 
every  thing  right  there.  It  is  of  fundamental  impor- 
tance, however,  that  when  you  look  within,  you  do  it, 
guided  by  the  principles  of  the  Bible  and  of  common 
sense,  and  not  by  those  of  speculation,  and  metaphysical 
philosophy.  Try  to  see  that  your  heart  is  right;  en- 
deavor to  cultivate  the  plain  and  unquestionable  charac- 
teristics of  piety; — but  do  not  lose  yourself  in  mystical 
speculations  about  the  nature  of  regeneration,  or  in  vain 
attempts  to  analyze  and  comprehend  what  will  certainly 
elude  your  grasp. 

A  great  number  of  young  converts,  instead  of  enter- 
30* 


354  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Cll.    11 

Mctajihysical  dilTicultiefl.  The  precise  time  of  conversion. 

ing  immediately  into  the  service  of  God,  cultivating  the 
spirit  of  piety,  and  endeavoring  to  do  common  and  prac- 
ticable good,  seem  immediately  to  turn,  as  soon  as  they 
become  sincerely  interested  in  the  subject  of  religion, 
into  metaphysical  philosophers,  spciculating  and  experi- 
menting upon  their  own  hearts.  Their  object  seems  to 
be,  not  to  become  holy,  but  to  understand  metaphysics. 
Do  not  let  this  be  the  case  with  you; — cultivate  piety. 

Do  not  waste  any  time  in  trying  to  determine  aX  what 
precise  time  you  became  a  Christian,  nor  distress  your- 
self because  you  cannot  determine  it:  nor  perplex  your 
mind  and  impede  your  religious  progress,  because  you 
cannot  positively  ascertain  whether  you  are  really  a 
Christian  or  not.  If  the  service  of  God  looks  alluring 
to  you,  press  forward  into  it,  without  stopping  to  con- 
sider the  difficulties  of  determining  how  you  came  where 
you  are. 

There  is  perhaps  no  more  common  source  of  perplex- 
ity and  discouragement  to  the  young  Christian  than  this. 
He  thinks  he  must  be  able  to  tell  precisely  when  he 
began  to  serve  God,  or  else  he  can  have  no  evidence 
that  he  really  has  begun  to  serve  him  at  all:  But  that 
time  cannot  be  determined.  In  a  very  large  number  of 
the  cases  where  it  is  supposed  to  be  determined,  the 
period  which  is  fixed,  is  probably  fixed  by  mistake. 
Deposit  a  little  seed  in  a  place  of  warmth,  and  moisture, 
and  watch  it  as  narrowly  as  you  please,  and  see  if  you 
can  tell  when  it  begins  to  vegetate.''  Equally  impos- 
sible is  it,  in  most  cases,  to  determine  the  precise  period 
when  the  first  holy  desires  sprung  up  in  the  human 
heart:  and  it  is  useless,  as  well  as  impossible.  The 
only  question  of  importance  is,  whether  the  seed  is 
growing, —  no  matter  when,  or  how  it  began  to  grow. 

Or  rather,  I  should  perhaps  say,  the  only  question  is, 
by  what  cultivation  we  can  make  the  seed  grow  most 
rapidly:    for   important    as    it   is,    that   every   Christian 


Ch.    11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  355 

The  first  great  duty.  Excellences  of  outward  life. 

should  know  what  are  his  condition  and  his  prospects 
in  reference  to  God  and  eternity,  there  is  undoubtedly 
such  a  fault,  and  it  is  a  very  common  one,  as  pursuing 
this  inquiry  with  too  great  earnestness  and  anxiety. 
Many  a  mind  wears  and  wastes  itself  away,  and  exhausts 
its  moral  energy,  in  fruitless  endeavors  to  determine  its 
own  spiritual  state,  when  peace  and  happiness  would  soon 
come,  if  it  would  only  press  on  in  the  work  of  duty. 

Still,  however,  the  Christian's  first  work  is  undoubt- 
edly with  his  own  heart, —  to  examine  its  tendencies,  to 
study  its  deceitful  ways,  to  correct  its  waywardness, 
and  to  bring  it  more  and  more  completely  under  the 
habitual  dominion  of  the  principles  of  piety.  When  a 
religious  life  is  first  commenced,  the  interest  of  novelty, 
and  the  various  excitements  of  the  new  moral  position 
which  the  soul  assumes,  withdraw  it,  as  it  were,  from 
the  influence  of  ordinary  temptations,  and  sin  falls 
asleep.  The  inexperienced  and  deluded  disciple  imag- 
ines that  he  has  obtained  a  decisive  and  a  final  victory: 
but  returning  temptation  will  bring  it  out  again,  with  all 
its  original  power;  and  this  power  will  be  exercised  with 
redoubled  effect,  on  account  of  the  unguarded  position 
of  the  soul  which  it  assails.  Look  within,  then;  keep 
up  a  constant  watch  and  warfare  there,  and  while  you 
do  not  neglect  your  duties  to  those  around  you,  remem- 
ber that  your  first  and  greatest  duty  is,  to  secure  the 
salvation  and  the  spiritual  progress  of  your  own  soul. 

4.  Cultivate  as  highly  as  possible,  what  may  be  called 
the  external  exellences  of  character.  Be  courageous, 
noble,  generous,  benevolent,  just;  and  let  all  around  you 
see  that  it  is  the  tendency  of  Christianity  to  carry  for- 
ward human  nature  in  every  respect, —  to  advance  it  to 
all  the  excellences  of  which  it  is  susceptible.  On  this 
principle,  cultivate  such  habits  of  thought  and  feeling  as 
shall  lead  you  to  shrink  instinctively  from  every  mean  or 


356  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    11. 

Regulation  of  the  conduct.  The  feelings  towards  others. 

unworthy  act.  Be  frank  and  open  and  honorable  in  all 
that  you  do.  Give  no  man  any  opportunity  to  complain 
of  you  for  the  spirit  which  nianifosts  itself  in  your  dealing's 
with  him.  Avoid  the  reputation  of  being  miserly,  or 
close,  or  ill-humored,  or  proud; — and  the  best  way  to 
avoid  the  reputation  of  these  things,  is  to  avoid  the  reality. 
Rise  to  the  possession  of  a  nobler  spirit  than  that  which 
reigns  in  the  selfish  hearts  with  which  the  world  is  filled; 
—  you  do,  in  reality,  if  you  are  a  Christian,  stand  on 
loftier  ground,  and  you  should  feel  this,  and  be  led  by  it 
to  higher  and  more  honorable  principles  of  conduct  than 
others  exemplify. 

5.  In  your  feelings  towards  all  around  you,  be  in- 
dulgent and  liberal.  When  you  think  of  men  living 
obstinately  in  sin,  remember  how  long  you  were  in  the 
same  condition,  and  let  this  reflection  quell  the  rising 
emotion  of  impatience,  and  suppress  the  censorious  tone. 
Make  allowances  for  the  circumstances  and  situation  of 
those  who  are  doing  wrong; — not  to  excuse  them,  for 
no  temptation  is  an  excuse  for  sin,  but  to  remind  your- 
self that  under  a  similar  exposure,  you  might  very  proba- 
bly do  the  same;  and  to  lead  you  to  feel  commiseration 
and  sorrow,  rather  than  to  exhibit  censorious  and  de- 
nunciatory zeal,  in  respect  to  the  faults  you  witness. 

Liberality,  however,  in  respect  to  the  opinions  or  con- 
duct of  others,  does  not  require  that  you  should  admit  or 
believe  every  body  to  be  right;  it  only  regulates  the 
feelings  with  which  you  regard  what  you  know  to  be 
wrong.  Many  persons  seem  to  imagine  that  liberality 
forbids  their  saying  or  thinking  that  their  neighbor  is  in 
error,  or  that  his  actions  are  to  be  condemned.  But  can 
any  Christian  grace  thus  obliterate  all  moral  distinctions, 
and  bring  confusion  and  derangement  upon  the  lines 
which  separate  truth  from  falsehood  and  right  from 
wrong?     No.     Let  your  opinions  on  moral  subjects  be 


Ch.    11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  357 

Formation  of  opinions.  Independence.  Modesty. 

distinct  and  clear.  Express  them  on  proper  occasions, 
frankly  and  fearlessly;  but  remember  while  you  do  this, 
that  you  yourself  have  spent  a  large  portion  of  your  life 
involved  in  the  common  guilt  of  the  human  family,  an-d 
that  you  have  been  preserved  from  its  extreme  enormities, 
only  by  the  influence  of  restraining  circumstances  and 
by  the  grace  of  God.  "Who  maketh  me  to  differ," 
should  be  your  first  thought,  when  you  find  yourself 
feeling  arising  irritation  against  sin. 

Do  not  exagjrerate  the  religious  differences  between 
yourself  and  others,  or  overrate  their  importance.  Be 
willing  to  see  piety,  wherever  you  can  find  it,  and  be 
bound  to  all  who  possess  it  by  a  common  sympathy.  If 
they  differ  from  you  in  this  or  that  article  of  belief,  do 
not  fix  your  eye  obstinately  upon  that  difl^erence,  and 
dwell  upon  it,  and  dispute  about  it,  till  you  effectually 
sunder  the  bond  by  which  you  might  be  united.  Look 
for  piety.  Wherever  you  find  it,  welcome  it  to  your  con- 
fidence and  sympathy.  In  all  your  efforts  to  do  good, 
too,  aim  at  the  direct  promotion  of  piety,  not  at  the 
eradication  of  religious  error.  Your  attacks  upon  error, 
will  only  strengthen  it  in  its  entrenchments;  but  piety, 
wherever  you  can  make  it  grow,  will  undermine  and  de- 
stroy error,  more  surely  than  any  other  means  you  can 
employ. 

6.  In  the  formation  of  your  own  opinions,  be  indepen- 
dent, and  bold,  but  cherish  that  modesty  and  humility 
which  will  always  be  inspired  by  a  just  estimate  of  the 
limits  of  human  powers.  In  the  first  place,  be  indepen- 
dent; use  your  own  reason,  your  own  senses,  your  owa 
Bible.  Be  untrammeled;  throw  off  the  chains  and  fetters 
which  compel  so  many  minds  to  believe  only  what  they 
are  told  to  believe,  and  to  walk  intellectually  and  moral- 
ly, in  paths  marked  out  for  them  by  human  teachers. 
The  Bible,  and  the  field  of  moral  observation  are  open 


358  THE    CORXLR-STONE.  [Cll.    11. 

Liiniu  to  human  knuwledge.  Prugress. 

before  all,  and  you  ought  to  go  into  this  field  as  an  origi- 
nal and  an  independent  observer.  In  the  second  place, 
be  modest.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  a  weak  nund  to 
be  dogmatical  and  positive.  Such  a  mind  makes  up  in 
dogged  determination  to  believe,  what  it  wants  in  evi- 
dence. Come  to  your  conclusions  cautiously;  and  take 
care  that  your  belief  covers  no  more  ground  than  your 
proofs.  Do  not  dispute  about  what  you  do  not  under- 
stand, nor  push  your  investigations  beyond  the  boundaries 
of  human  knowledge.  Men  are  often  sadly  perplexed 
with  difficulties  which  arise  from  the  simple  fact  that  they 
have  got  beyond  their  depth.  If  wc  go  far  away  from 
the  region  of  practical  duty,  our  light  goes  out; —  we  are 
puzzled  with  difficulties,  and  seeming  contradictions, 
which  we  cannot  reconcile.  We  are  like  a  school  boy 
with  a  map  of  the  world  before  him.  The  delineations 
of  England  and  America  are  plain,  but  when  he  goes 
out  towards  the  boundaries  of  the  circles,  all  is  distorted 
by  the  effect  of  the  projection,  and  his  puzzled  head 
cannot  exactly  understand  how  Greenland  and  Nova 
Zembla  can  come  together.  Be  bold  and  independent, 
then,  in  forming  your  opinions,  within  the  region  which 
is  fairly  before  you, —  but  proceed  with  a  cautious  and 
modest  step,  when  you  go  beyond  these  bounds, 

7.  Grow,  in  piety.  Many  persons  consider  conversion 
as  the  completion  of  a  change,  which  leaves  nothing  to 
be  done  during  the  rest  of  life  but  to  rest  in  idle  expecta- 
tion of  the  happiness  of  heaven.  But  conversion  is  not 
a  change  completed; — it  is  a  change  begun.  It  is  the 
first  favorable  turn,  in  a  desperate  disease,  and  must  be 
followed  by  the  progress  of  COiivalescence,  or  health  will 
never  come.  Make  it  your  great  work  therefore  to  grow 
thus  in  piety.  Watch  your  own  heart,  and  take  a  special 
interest  in  studying  its  mysteries,  and  detecting  its  de- 
ceits, and  understanding  its  sins.     Notice   its  changes 


Ch.   11.]  THE    CONCLUSION.  359 

Pressing  forward.  Trust  in  the  Savior. 

SO  as  to  observe  the  indications  of  progress,  or  the 
symptoms  of  decline.  You  will  take  a  strong  interest  in 
this  work,  if  you  engage  in  it  in  earnest.  A  man  who 
has  a  large  estate,  takes  pleasure  in  planning  and  carry- 
ing forward  improvements  upon  it.  He  supplies  its  de- 
ficiencies, and  adds  in  various  ways  to  its  conveniences 
for  business,  or  its  means  of  enjoyment;  and  he  takes 
pleasure  in  this,  not  merely  on  account  of  the  increased 
value  hereby  given  to  his  property,  but  because  it  is  a 
source  of  direct  gratification  to  watch  the  progress  of 
improvement,  especially  when  that  progress  is  the  effect 
of  his  own  efforts,  and  is  directed  by  his  own  skill.  Now 
an  interest  similar  in  nature  to  this  should  be  felt  by 
every  Christian,  in  the  moral  and  spiritual  advancement 
of  his  own  soul.  You  must  not  be  content  to  be  station- 
ary,—  to  go  through,  day  after  day,  the  same  round  of 
religious  duty;  merely  as  good  a  Christian  to-day  as  you 
were  yesterday,  and  looking  forward  to  no  improvement 
to-morrow.  No;  let  it  ►be  your  distinct  understand-ing 
that  when  you  abandon  your  life  of  ungodliness  and  sin, 
and  come  and  give  yourself  to  the  service  of  God,  your 
work  is  entered  upon,  not  concluded.  Expect  to  press 
onward.  Be  vigilant, —  be  faithful, —  and  look  forward 
to  your  future  Christian  course,  as  to  a  path  of  difficulty 
and  trial.  Go  on  in  it  perseveringly,  from  contest  to 
contest,  and  from  victory  to  victory. 

8.  Look  to  the  Savior  for  moral  protection.  Keep  as 
near  as  possible  to  him.  Do  not  trust  to  your  own  reso- 
lutions or  your  own  strength  for  the  means  of  resisting 
temptation  and  sin.  Just  so  far  as  you  do,  your  Christian 
course  will  be  a  series  of  feeble,  faltering  efforts,  alter- 
nating with  continual  slips  and  falls.  The  power  which 
rescued  you  at  first,  is  the  only  one  that  can  keep  you 
now,  and  as  you  go  on  therefore,  through  the  years  of 
trial  and  temptation  and  duty  which  are  before  you,  rest 


360  THE    CORNER-STONE.  [Ch.    11. 

Jeiiiu  Christ  die  chief  Corner -etone. 

all  your  hopes  on  Him.  The  journey  will  be  pleasant 
and  safe,  thou<^li  dillicult,  if  you  go  under  the  Savior*3 
protection,  and  keep  ct^nstantly  near  to  him.  It  will  be 
sad  and  sorrowful  enough,  both  in  its  progress  and  in  its 
termination,  if  you  be  left  to  go  alone.  Your  hopes  of 
forgiveness  for  the  past  should  rest  on  Him, —  so  should 
your  hopes  of  spiritual  protection  for  the  future.  In  a 
word,  the  edifice  of  salvation  must  rest  on  Him  as  on  its 
Corner-stone. 


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